diff options
| author | nfenwick <nfenwick@pglaf.org> | 2025-03-10 16:21:17 -0700 |
|---|---|---|
| committer | nfenwick <nfenwick@pglaf.org> | 2025-03-10 16:21:17 -0700 |
| commit | c34805ccfd1cfa247db5d3efcb413cc4d122185d (patch) | |
| tree | 8aef47d4e26068e2ef5c69e414e3b5078a8041d8 | |
| -rw-r--r-- | .gitattributes | 4 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | 75583-0.txt | 7875 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | 75583-h/75583-h.htm | 10234 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | 75583-h/images/cover.jpg | bin | 0 -> 274906 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | LICENSE.txt | 11 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | README.md | 2 |
6 files changed, 18126 insertions, 0 deletions
diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/75583-0.txt b/75583-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..ea5f826 --- /dev/null +++ b/75583-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,7875 @@ + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75583 *** + + +The Informer + +by Liam O’Flaherty + +published by New York: Alfred A. Knopf (1925) +Copyright 1925 by Liam O’Flaherty + + + +CHAPTER I + +It was three minutes to six o’clock in the evening of the fifteenth of +March 192‒. + +Francis Joseph McPhillip ran up the concrete steps leading to the +glass-panelled swing door that acted as street entrance to the Dunboy +Lodging House. The House, as it was called in Dublin, among criminal +and pauperized circles, was a grey concrete building of four stories. +It stood on the left-hand side of a wide wind-swept asphalt lane off +B—— Road on the south side of the city. A maze of slum streets +surrounded it. An indefinable smell of human beings living in a +congested area filled the air around it. From the building itself, a +smell of food and of floors being scrubbed with soap and hot water +emanated. + +A drizzling rain was falling from a black bulging sky. Now and again a +flock of hailstones, driven by a sudden gust of querulous wind, +clattered down the lane, falling in little dancing groups on the hard, +perspiring asphalt. + +McPhillip ran up the four steps and peered into the hall hurriedly +through the glass door. He put his face so close to the glass that his +excited breath caused an immediate blur of vapour on the frozen pane. +Then he turned about. He crouched against the angle of the doorway and +peered around the corner of the wall, up the lane through which he had +just come. He wanted to find out whether anybody was following him. He +was a murderer. + +He had killed the secretary of the local branch of the Farmers’ Union +during the farm labourers’ strike at M—— in the previous October. +Since then he had been hiding out in the mountains with a group of men +who were evading arrest, brigands, criminals and political refugees. +He had just come into Dublin half an hour previously on a goods train. +The conductor of the train was a member of the Revolutionary +Organization, to which McPhillip himself had belonged when he shot the +Farmers’ Union Secretary. + +He saw nobody of account in the lane. An old woman crossed near the +far end. She had a black shawl about her head and in her hand a milk +jug, with a corner of the shawl drawn across its mouth to keep out the +rain. A man was singing forlornly, facing the kerb on the right-hand +side, with his cap held out in front of him. He was begging, but +nobody took any notice of him. + +McPhillip’s eyes darted about everywhere, with the speed and acuteness +of one who has perfected his detective sensibilities by necessity and +long practice. The street was quite safe. He sighed and turned about +to survey the interior of the House. + +He was a man of middle size and slightly built, but his shoulders were +broad enough for a giant. His body narrowed down from the shoulders, +so that the hips and waist were totally out of proportion to the upper +part of the body. His right leg opened outwards in a curve below the +knee and he placed the toe of the right foot on the ground before the +heel when he walked, so that his walk had the crouching appearance of +a wild animal stalking in a forest. His face was thin and sallow. His +hair was black and cropped close. His eyebrows were black and bushy. +His eyelashes were long and they continually drooped over his eyes. +When his eyelashes drooped his eyes were blue, sharp and fierce. But +when he raised his lashes for a moment to think of something distant +and perhaps imaginary, his eyes were large, wistful and dreamy. They +were soft and full of a sorrow that was unfathomable. His jaws were +square, sharp and fleshless. His lips were thin and set tightly. This +gave the lower part of his face a ferocious appearance. His nose was +long and straight. His cheeks were hollow and on the cheekbones a +bright flush appeared when he was seized with a fit of hard, dry +coughing which he tried to suppress. + +He was dressed in a shabby pair of wrinkled navy blue trousers and a +fawn-coloured, shabby raincoat, buttoned up around his throat like a +uniform. His boots were old and thin. They creaked with moisture +soaked in through their torn soles. He wore a grey tweed cap. Under +his left armpit he carried an automatic pistol in a leather holster. +The pistol hung from a lanyard that was suspended from his neck. + +As he stood looking in through the door, the fingers of his right hand +were thrust in between the first and second buttons of his raincoat. +The tips of the fingers rested on the cold butt of the automatic. + +Within the hall three old men were waiting in a row outside the closed +glass window of the office on the right-hand side. The nearest old man +to the door wore a brown pauper’s uniform. Both his eyes had cataracts +and he seemed to be on the point of going into a faint. He was leaning +on a stick and his head kept bobbing like a man that is in a drunken +stupor and is on the point of falling asleep. The second old man wore +a torn old dress suit. He looked like a waiter thrown out of +employment through old age. He had a sharp lean face. The farthest old +man was dressed in a medley of unspeakable rags and he shook his body +continually trying to scratch himself on the insides of his clothes. +The three of them stood in silence. Beyond them, four more concrete +steps led to a long passage through the building. A corridor crossed +the passage at the far end. Men passed along the corridor now and +again in groups. + +McPhillip was about to push through the door when the glass panel was +pulled up with a screech and a man’s head appeared at the window. The +man cracked his thumb and forefinger and motioned the nearest old man +to approach, the old man dressed in rags. The old man started and +cried out in a weak, childish voice: “Oh be Janey I’d forgotten.” +Smiling weakly and muttering to himself he began to rummage among his +rags. The man at the window looked at him, pursed up his lips angrily +and disappeared. + +Presently he reappeared from around the corner of the office. He came +up to the old man and stood in front of him with his hands on his hips +and his legs spread wide apart. His neat blue trousers were perfectly +creased. He was in his shirt sleeves, so that his diamond sleeve links +and the large diamond in his tie flashed in the half darkness. His +hair was glued to his head with perfumed oil. Its odour pervaded the +whole hallway. He looked at the old man with an expression of mixed +contempt and anger. The two other old men began to snigger fawningly +and tried to appear to have absolutely no connection with the ragged +old man. + +At last the ragged old man found a red handkerchief, and in his +excitement he could not undo the knot that bound it together in a +ball. + +“Here,” he cried, holding out the handkerchief to the clerk, “there +are five pennies and four halfpennies there. Me fingers are all stiff +with the rheumatism an’ I can’t untie it. Maybe ye’d do it for me for +th’ honour o’ God?” + +Then he looked up into the clerk’s face with his mouth open. But the +clerk, without taking any notice of the handkerchief, was looking at +the old man’s face as if he were going to strike him. The old man +began to tremble. + +“Get out of here,” yelled the clerk suddenly in a thunderous voice. + +Then he became motionless again. The old man began to babble and +shiver. He turned about and shuffled down the steps to the door, +scratching his shoulder-blades against his clothes as he moved. He +went down two steps and then paused uncertainly and looked behind him. +Then he shuddered, took another step, lost his balance and slipped. He +slithered to the door on his buttocks. The other two old men began to +laugh and titter. The clerk scowled at them. “What are ye laughing +at?” he cried. They stopped immediately. “Hey you,” he continued, +pointing his finger at the ragged old man, who had reached the street +outside and was standing irresolutely on the kerb looking back over +his shoulders. “If I catch you here again, you old fool, I’ll hand you +over to the police. Go away now and get into the workhouse where you +belong. Huh!” + +The old man wrinkled up his monkey-like face into a grimace of +surprise and misery. He cast a terrified look at the haggard face of +McPhillip, that peered at him out of the angle of the wall to the left +of the door. Then he mumbled something and set off down the lane at a +broken trot. The other two old men in the hall began to whisper to one +another as soon as the clerk turned his back and walked back into the +office. + +“Be the holy,” said one, “he should be shot, wha?” + +“So he should,” whined the other old man, “the dirty, rotten—to be +goin’ about like that.” + +Then they shuffled up to the window for their bed tickets. The clerk +swore at them and called them filthy names, but they kept apologizing +to him and sniggering. + +While the two old men were getting their bed tickets at the window, +McPhillip pushed through the door quietly and slipped along the hall. +He turned to the right at the far end. He stopped there. He leaned up +against the wall casually, took a cigarette from his pocket and lit +it. He looked around examining the passage. It was a wide corridor +with a concrete floor and walls of glazed brick. There were windows at +regular intervals opening on a large yard at the rear of the building. +In the alcoves formed by the windows seats were placed. By the +opposite wall there were spittoons placed at equal distances of three +yards or so. Men were strewn along the passage in groups, some sitting +on the seats conversing in low voices, others walking up and down +singly or in pairs, with their eyes on the ground and their hands +muffed behind their backs in their coat sleeves. They were all +wretchedly dressed and melancholy. Some were quite young, but their +faces had already assumed the dejected appearance that is usually +found only in the faces of old men who have been disappointed in life. + +Puffing at his cigarette slowly, McPhillip examined the hall and the +men who passed, with the same quick, sharp cunning with which he had +examined the street. Again he could see nobody that aroused his +interest. Again he sighed gently and moved away to the right. He +entered a large room through a swing door. + +The room was crowded. It was furnished with long tables and wooden +forms, like a café for the working class. There were newspapers on +some tables. On others there were games or draughts and dominoes. Men +sat at all the tables. Some read. Others played games. The majority, +however, sat in silence, their eyes staring vacantly in front of them, +contemplating the horror of their lives. Those who could find no seat +stood about the tables, watching the progress of the games, with their +hands in their pockets and their faces set in an expression of stolid +and absent-minded indifference. + +McPhillip walked about from one table to another, his cigarette in his +left hand, the fingers of his right hand clutching the butt of his +automatic, between the two top buttons of his raincoat. Nobody noticed +him. The melancholy eyes, that were raised casually to look, saw only +another shabby wreck like themselves. Even had his identity been +suddenly disclosed by means of a loud trumpet to the men in that room, +it is questionable whether the news would have occasioned excitement +in more than a few breasts. Casual workers, casual criminals and +broken old men, their connection with the ordered scheme of civilized +life, with its moral laws and its horror of crime, was so thin and +weak that they were unable to feel the interest that murder arouses in +the tender breasts of our wives and sisters. + +McPhillip examined the room carefully without discovering what he +wanted. Then he walked out into the corridor again. He entered another +room that was used by the occupants of the lodging-house for the +purpose of writing letters. That room was empty. Then he descended a +stairway to the lavatories and bathrooms. Here men were shaving and +washing themselves. He walked about and discovered nobody. He came up +again into the corridor and entered the dining-room. + +The dining-room was very large and furnished with small deal tables +and long forms of the same material. The wooden floor was covered with +sawdust, like the floor of a slum public-house. Here and there the +sawdust was mixed with refuse that had been swept from the tables. At +the far end of the room a great number of men were gathered around an +immense range, some with frying-pans in their hands awaiting their +turn to cook, others rushing about attending to cooking utensils that +were already on the range. They all had knives, spoons and forks in +their hands. They were jostling, perspiring, cursing, laughing and +scratching themselves. There was a great din of voices and a smell of +food and of human bodies. + +At the other end of the room there was a counter and behind the +counter a large bright kitchen, shining bright with white crockery, +polished brasses and the clean white uniforms of the women who served +in it. Three young women were there cooking and serving food, for the +lodgers who had not the means or the inclination to prepare their own +food. These lodgers stood at the counter buying tea, bread and butter, +cooked eggs and meat. They also purchased knives, forks, spoons and +salt, because these necessities were not provided by the management in +the lodging-house, owing to the moral character of the lodgers, except +on payment of a fixed sum, which was returned at the conclusion of the +meal, when the articles were handed back at the counter. + +McPhillip walked down across the room to the far side. He had seen the +man he sought at the first glance. He walked straight to a table by +the wall at the far side. At that table a young man of thirty or so +was eating his supper. + +He ate off an enamelled plate that was loaded high with potatoes, +coarse cabbage and a large piece of boiled bacon. A great steam rose +from the plate and twisted up towards the ceiling in front of the +man’s face. The man was dressed in a suit of blue dungarees, with a +white muffler wound round and round his neck. He had a close-cropped +bullet-shaped head, fair hair and dark eyebrows. The eyebrows were +just single tufts, one over the centre of each eye. They grew long and +narrowed to a single hair, like the ends of waxed moustaches. They +were just like ominous snouts, and they had more expression than the +dim little blue eyes that were hidden away behind their scowling +shadows. The face was bronzed red and it was covered by swellings that +looked like humps at a distance. These humps came out on the forehead, +on the cheekbones, on the chin and on either side of the neck below +the ears. On close observation, however, they almost disappeared in +the general glossy colour of the brownish red skin, that looked as if +there were several tiers of taut skin covering the face. The nose was +short and bulbous. The mouth was large. The lips were thick and they +fitted together in such a manner that the mouth gave the face an +expression of being perpetually asleep. His body was immense, with +massive limbs and bulging muscles pushing out here and there, like +excrescences of the earth breaking the expected regularity of a +country-side. He sat upright in his seat, with his large square head +bolted on to his squat neck, like an iron stanchion riveted to a deck. + +He stared straight in front of him as he ate. He held his fork by the +handle, upright, in his left hand. He rapped the table with the end of +the fork, as if he were keeping time with the rapid crunching of his +jaws. But as soon as he saw McPhillip, his jaws stopped moving and the +hand holding the fork dropped noiselessly to the table. His face +closed up and his body became absolutely motionless. + +McPhillip sat down at the opposite side of the table. He did not speak +and he did not express recognition by any sign or movement of his +body. But he knew the man quite well. They were bosom friends. The man +was Gypo Nolan, McPhillip’s companion during the strike of +farm-labourers, when McPhillip had killed the secretary of the +Farmers’ Union. Gypo Nolan had once been a policeman in Dublin, but he +had been dismissed owing to a suspicion at Headquarters that he was in +league with the Revolutionary Organization and had given information +to them relative to certain matters that had leaked out. Since then he +had been an active member of the Revolutionary Organization and had +always acted with Francis Joseph McPhillip, so that they were known in +revolutionary circles as the “Devil’s Twins.” + +“Well, Gypo,” said McPhillip at last, “how is things?” + +McPhillip’s voice was cracked and weak, but it had a fierce sincerity +that gave it immense force, like the force in the chirping of a tiny +bird whose nest is being robbed. + +“Did ye leave them messages I gave ye?” he continued after a moment, +during which he gasped for breath. “I didn’t hear anythin’ from home +since I saw ye that evenin’ I had to take to the hills. What’s doin’, +Gypo?” + +Gypo stared in silence for several moments, breathing slowly, with +open mouth and distended eyes. He never spoke. Then he made a strange +sound, like a suppressed exclamation, in his throat. He slowly cut a +large potato in four pieces with his knife. He transferred one piece +to his mouth on the tip of his knife. He began to chew slowly. Then he +stopped chewing suddenly and spoke. It was a deep thunderous voice. + +“Where the divil did ye come from, Frankie?” he said. + +“It don’t matter where I come from,” cried McPhillip in an irritated +tone. “I got no time to waste passin’ the compliments o’ the season. I +came in here to get wise to all the news. Tell us all ye know. First, +tell me . . . wait a minute. How about them messages? Did ye deliver +them? Don’t mind that grub. Man alive, are ye a savage or what? Here I +am with the cops after me for me life an’ ye go on eatin’ yer spuds. +Lave down that damn knife or I’ll plug ye. Come on, I’m riskin’ me +life to come in here and ask ye a question. Get busy an’ tell me all +about it.” + +Gypo sighed easily and wiped his mouth with the back of his right +sleeve. Then he put his knife on the table and swallowed his mouthful. + +“Ye were always a cranky fellah,” he growled, “an’ ye don’t seem to be +improvin’, with the spring weather. I’ll tell ye if ye hold on a +minute. I delivered yer messages, to yer father an’ mother and to the +Executive Committee. Yer ol’ man gev me dog’s abuse and drov’ me outa +the house, an’ he cursed ye be bell, book an’ candle light. Yer mother +followed me out cryin’ an’ put half a quid into me hand to give to ye. +I had no way o’ findin’ ye an’ I was hungry mesel’, so I spent it. +Well——” + +McPhillip interrupted with a muttered curse. Then he was seized with a +fit of coughing. When the fit was over, Gypo went on. + +“Well,” continued Gypo. “Ye know yersel’ what happened with the +Executive Committee. They sent a man out to tell ye. I wouldn’t mind +them sendin’ a letter to the papers sayin’ they had nothin’ to do with +the strike. It ud only be all swank anyway, an’ who cares? But I +declare to Christ they near had me plugged when I went in to report. +Commandant Gallagher was goin’ to send down men to plug ye too, but +lots o’ the other fellahs got around him and he didn’t. Anyway I was +fired out o’ the Organization as well as yersel’, although ye know +yersel’, Frankie, that I had nothin’ to do with firin’ that shot. +An’——” + +“What the—” began McPhillip angrily, rapping the table; but again he +began to cough. Gypo went on without taking notice of the coughing. + +“The police arrested me, but they could find no evidence, so they gev +me an awful beatin’ and threw me out. I ben wanderin’ around since +without a dog to lick me trousers, half starvin’!” + +“What do I want to know about the Executive Committee?” grumbled +McPhillip angrily, recovering his breath. “I don’t want to hear +anything about executive committees or revolutionary organizations, me +curse on the lot o’ them. I want to hear about me father an’ mother. +What about ’em, Gypo?” + +Gypo expanded his thick under lip and stared at McPhillip with +distended eyes. His eyes seemed to hold an expression of sadness in +their dim recesses, but it was hard to say. The face was so crude and +strong that the expression that might be termed sadness in another +face was mere wonder in his. For the first time he had noticed the +pallor of McPhillip’s face, the hectic flush, the fits of coughing, +the jerky movements and the evident terror in the eyes that used to be +so fearless. + +“Frankie,” cried Gypo in his deep, slow, passionless voice, “yer sick. +Man alive, ye look as if ye were dyin’.” + +McPhillip started and looked about him hurriedly as if he expected to +see death there behind his back waiting to pounce upon him. + +“Have a bite,” continued Gypo, “’twill warm ye up.” + +At the same time he himself began to eat again fiercely, like a great +strong animal, tackling the solitary meal of its day. The large red +hands with just stumps of fingers held the knife and fork so +ponderously that those frail instruments seemed to run the danger of +being crushed, like some costly thing picked up on the tip of an +elephant’s trunk. But McPhillip did not follow the invitation. He +looked angrily at the food for several seconds with wrinkled forehead, +as if he were trying to remember what it was and what it was for, and +then he spoke again. + +“I know I’m dyin’, Gypo, an’ that’s why I came in. I got the +consumption.” Gypo started. He was struck at that moment by an insane +and monstrous idea. “I came in to get some money from me mother. An’ I +wanted to see her before I die. Good God, it was awful, Gypo, out +there on them hills all the winter, with me gun in me hand night an’ +day, sleeping in holes on the mountains, with the winds blowin’ about +me all night, screechin’ like a pack o’ devils, an’ every blast o’ +them winds spoke with a man’s voice, an’ I lyin’ there listenin’ to +them. Good God——” + +Again he began to cough and he had to stop. Gypo was not listening to +him. He had not heard a word. A monstrous idea had prowled into his +head, like an uncouth beast straying from a wilderness into a +civilized place where little children are alone. He did not hear +McPhillip’s words or his coughing, although the monstrous idea was in +relation to McPhillip. + +“So I said to mesel’, that I might as well chance me arm be comin’ +into town as lyin’ out there, starvin’ to death with the cold an’ +hunger an’ this cough. So I came along here to see ye, Gyp, first, so +as to get a bead on what’s doin’. Have they got a guard on the house?” + +“Divil a guard,” replied Gypo suddenly, and then he started and +stretched out his right hand towards McPhillip with a little +exclamation. His eyes were wild and his mouth was wide open like the +mouth of a man looking at a spectre. Gypo’s mind was looking at that +uncouth ogre that was prowling about in his brain. + +McPhillip leaned across the table. Gradually his eyes narrowed into an +intense stare of ferocity. His lips curled up and his forehead +wrinkled. He began to tremble. + +“What is it, Gypo?” he hissed. “Tell me, Gyp, or I’ll . . .” He made a +rapid movement with the wrist of the hand that clutched his automatic. +“The cops are after me, Gyp, an’ I’m dyin’, so I don’t mind how I use +the twenty-four rounds I got left. I’ve notched their noses so they +can make a quare hole. There’s one for mesel’ too.” He shuddered as if +at the thought of a tender pleasure. Then he scowled fiercely and half +drew the butt of his pistol from his pocket. His voice was almost +inaudible. “Tell me the truth about how things stand without any jig +actin’ or I’ll plug ye.” + +He glared at Gypo, his hand on his pistol, his right arm rigid to the +shoulder, ready to draw the gun and fire in one movement. Gypo stared +him in the eyes without any emotion, either of fear or of surprise. +With the nail of his right forefinger he abstracted a string of meat +from between two teeth. He spluttered with his lips and then he +shrugged his shoulders. The spectre had suddenly gone out of his mind +without his being able to make head or tail of it. + +“No use talkin’ like that to me, Frankie,” he murmured lazily. “The +only reason why I didn’t want to say anythin’ was because I didn’t +like to . . .” Again the ghoulish thing came into his mind and he +stopped with a start. But almost immediately he continued in a forced +voice. He was beginning to be ashamed of that spectre as if he had +already given way to the horrid suggestions it made, although he did +not at all comprehend those suggestions. “I didn’t like to maybe send +ye into harm’s way. Ye see, I don’t know if there’s a guard on yer +father’s house or if there’s not. I generally knock around Titt +Street, but I haven’t been near No. 44 since that night I went there +with yer message an’ yer ol’ man told me never to darken his door +again. There may be a guard on it or there may be no guard on it. But +if I told ye there wasn’t and ye went there and got nabbed, ye know——” + +“What are ye drivin’ at, Gypo?” growled McPhillip suspiciously. + +“Nothin’ at all,” said Gypo with a great deep laugh. “But it’s how +ye’ve come in on me so sudden, an’ I don’t know right what I’m talkin’ +about. Ye see, I’m all mixed up for the last six months, wanderin’ +around here, without a mate that ud give me a tanner for a flop if I +were to die o’ the cold lyin’ in O’Connell’s Street with a foot o’ +frost on the ground. They——” + +“Oh, shut up about yersel’ an’ the frost an’ tell us somethin’.” + +“Now don’t get yer rag out, Frankie. I was comin’ to that. I was +comin’ to it, man. They held me up in the street the other day +and had a long talk about ye. They’re after ye yet all right. +Sergeant McCartney an’ another fellah from Sligo was there. That +Detective-Sergeant McCartney is a bad lot. Huh, he’s a rascal, an’ no +goin’ behind a wall to say it. He swore to me that he’d get ye dead or +alive. ‘I wouldn’t care much for yer job then,’ says I to him, just +like that, an’ he gave me an eye that ud knock ye stiff.” + +“He says he’s goin’ to get me, did he?” murmured McPhillip dreamily. +Suddenly his mind seemed to wander away and he lost interest in his +present surroundings. His eyes rested vacantly on the table, about a +foot away to the right. + +Gypo looked hurriedly at the spot upon which McPhillip’s eyes were +fixed. He saw nothing. He looked back again at McPhillip’s face and +wrinkled up his forehead. Then he made a noise in his throat and began +to eat once more with great rapidity. He breathed on his food, to cool +it, as he put it into his jaws. He made noises. + +McPhillip stared at the table for a long time. His right hand toyed +nervously with the butt of his pistol. His left hand rapped the table. +Then a strange sparkle came into his eyes. He laughed suddenly. It was +a strange laugh. It made Gypo start. + +“What’s the matter, Frankie?” he asked in a terrified voice. + +“Nothin’ atall,” said McPhillip, shaking himself. “Gimme somethin’ t’ +eat.” + +He began to eat ravenously, using his penknife as a knife and fork. He +had not eaten for a long time. He did not taste the food but gulped it +down at a great speed. + +Gypo ate also, but he kept staring at McPhillip while he ate. Every +time his wandering little eyes reached McPhillip’s eyes they narrowed +and became very sharp. Then he would roll his tongue around in his +cheek and make a sucking sound. + +At last McPhillip stopped eating. He wiped his penknife on his +trousers and put it into his pocket. + +“Gypo,” he said slowly, “are there any cops watchin’ our house, the +old man’s place in Titt Street?” + +Gypo shook his head three times in reply. His mouth was full. Then he +swallowed his mouthful, he put his fork to his forehead and set to +thinking. + +“Lemme see,” he said at last. “Yeh. They had two cops watchin’ the +place until after Christmas. Then they took ’em off. They didn’t put +any on since as far as I know, but I believe that a fellah goes around +there now an’ again to make inquiries. O’ course they might have +secret-service men on it as well. God only knows who’s givin’ +information to the Government now, an’ who isn’t. Ye never know who +yer talkin’ to. I never in me life saw anythin’ like it. Tell ye what, +Frankie, the workin’ class is not worth fightin’ for. They think yer +gone to the United States, but all the same it might be dangerous +goin’ down there now. I’m sorry I have no money to give ye, so as ye +could——” + +“Where the divil did ye get all the gab?” cried McPhillip suddenly, +looking suspiciously at Gypo. “I never knew ye to let out all that +much talk in a day, or maybe a whole week. Are ye goin’ to the +university now in yer spare time or what ails ye?” + +McPhillip began to rap the table again. There was silence. Gypo +nonchalantly transferred the scraps from his plate to his mouth on the +flat of his knife. When the plate was completely cleaned up he rattled +the knife and fork on to it. Then he stuck out his massive chest and +rubbed his palms along it. + +Suddenly McPhillip swore and jumped to his feet. He stood, as if in a +dream, looking at the table for several moments. Gypo watched his +face, with his little tufted eyebrows quivering. At the same time he +cleaned his teeth with his left thumb-nail. At last McPhillip drew in +a deep breath through his teeth, making a noise as if he were sucking +ice. + +“Right,” he said, with his eyes still on the table. “My ould fellah is +at home now, is he?” + +“Yes,” said Gypo. “I saw him yesterday. He was over in the ’Pool on a +job, but he’s back this fortnight. I think he’s workin’ on a new house +out in Rathmines.” + +“Right,” said McPhillip again. Then he raised his eyes, looked at Gypo +fiercely and smiled in a curious fashion. “See ye again, Gypo, unless +the cops get me.” + +As he spoke he seemed to think of something. His face quivered and +darkened. Then he shrugged his shoulders and laughed outright. He +nodded twice and turned on his heel. He strode hurriedly out of the +room. + +Gypo looked after him for a long time without moving. He had finished +cleaning his teeth. He just stared at the door through which McPhillip +had disappeared. Then gradually his mind began to fill with +suggestions. His forehead wrinkled up. His body began to fidget. At +last he jumped to his feet. He collected the plate, the knife and fork +and the salt. He walked into the passage and put them in a locker, +which was provided by the management for the lodgers. The locker did +not belong to Gypo. He had no locker because he was merely a casual +lodger since he had no regular income to pay for a bed by the week. +The locker belonged to a carter of Gypo’s acquaintance. Gypo had seen +the man put his next-day’s dinner in the locker and go away without +turning the key. Gypo knew also that the man would not be back until +ten o’clock that night. So he took the dinner. + +He placed the things in the locker and walked away casually. He sat on +the corner of a seat in one of the alcoves. He rummaged in the pockets +of his dungarees and collected several minute scraps of cigarettes. He +carefully unrolled the scraps, collecting all the tobacco in the palm +of his right hand. Then he begged a cigarette paper from an old man +who sat beside him. The old man had none and said so with an angry +curse. Gypo wrinkled his forehead and sniffed as if he were smelling +the old man. Then he turned to a young man who passed and requested a +cigarette paper. The young man halted and supplied one grudgingly. +Gypo took the paper in silence, without a word or a nod of thanks. He +rolled his cigarette and lit it at the gas jet. Then he sat down +again, crossed his legs, let his body go limp and began to smoke. + +His ears seemed to stick out very far, as he lay back limply in the +seat, in the half-darkness of the corridor. + +For a minute the odour and the taste of the tobacco held him in a +state of enjoyment. He did not think either of the fact that he had no +bed for the night or of his meeting with McPhillip. Then gradually his +forehead began to wrinkle and furrow. His little tufted eyebrows began +to twitch. When he pulled at his cigarette his face was enshrouded in +a bright glow and the humps on his face stood out, glistening and +smooth. He began to shift about in his seat. First he uncrossed his +legs. Then he crossed them again. He began to tap his knee with his +right hand. He sighed. His cigarette wore out until it was burning his +lips without his becoming aware of the fact. Then he spluttered it out +of his mouth on to his chest and he jumped to his feet. + +He stood looking at the ground with his hands deep in his trousers +pockets. He seemed to be deep in thought, but he was not thinking. At +least there was no concrete idea fixed in his mind. Two facts rumbled +about in his brain, making that loud primeval noise, which is the +beginning of thought and which tired people experience when the jaded +brain has spun out the last threads of its energy. There were two +facts in his brain. First, the fact of his meeting with McPhillip. +Second, the fact of his having no money to buy a bed for the night. + +These two facts stood together in an amorphous mass. But he could not +summon up courage to tackle them and place them in proper +juxtaposition and reason out their relationship. He just stood looking +at the ground. + +Then a drunken bookmaker’s clerk named Shanahan brushed against him. +He stepped aside with a muttered oath. He pulled one hand from his +pocket to strike, with the fingers extended in the shape of a bird’s +claws. Shanahan, doubled up in the middle by the helplessness of +intoxication, stared at Gypo with blue eyes that had gone almost +completely red. Gypo turned away with a shrug of his shoulders. At any +other time he would gladly have availed himself of this opportunity of +begging a shilling from Shanahan. Shanahan was always good for the +loan of a shilling when he was drunk. A shilling would procure Gypo a +bed for the night and leave a little for a light breakfast in the +morning. Ten minutes ago, a _rencontre_ of this sort would have been a +godsend to Gypo. But now, those two cursed facts stood in his brain, +making him unconscious of everything else. + +He walked out of the House and up the lane towards B— Road. + +He walked with his hands deep in his pockets, slowly, with his thighs +brushing on the insides as he walked. He seemed to haul his big boots +after him, bringing them as near the ground as possible. His hips +moved up and down as his feet went forward. His eyes were on the +ground. His lips were distended outwards. His little torn, brown, +slouch hat was perched incongruously on the top of his head, much too +small for his large square skull, with the brim turned up closely all +around. When a squall of wind, laden with little sharp hailstones, +struck him across the face and body, his clothes puffed out and he +curled up his short stubby nose in an angry grin. + +He was looking into the window of a saddler’s shop in Dame Street, +when the relationship between the two facts became known to him. He +was looking at a pair of bright spurs and his face contorted suddenly. +His eyes bulged as if he were taken with a fit of terror. He looked +about him suspiciously, as if he were about to steal something for the +first time. Then he rushed away hurriedly. He moved through lanes and +alleyways to the river. He crossed the street to the river wall. He +leaned his elbows on the wall and spat into the dark water. With his +chin resting on his arms, he stood perfectly still, thinking. + +He was contemplating the sudden discovery that his mind had made, +about the relationship between his having no money for a bed and his +having met Francis Joseph McPhillip, who was wanted for murder in +connection with the farm-labourers’ strike at M—— in the previous +October. A terrific silence reigned within his head. + +Now and again he looked around him with a kind of panting noise. He +snorted and smelled the air and screwed up his eyes. Then he leaned +over the wall again and rested his chin on his crossed hands. He was +that way for half an hour. Then at last he drew himself up straight. +He stretched his arms above his head. He yawned. He stuck his hands in +his trousers pockets. He stared at the ground. Then with his eyes on +the ground he walked away at the same slouching pace as before. + +He crossed the river and traversed a maze of side streets, with his +eyes always on the ground, until he reached the corner of a dark side +street, that had a bright lamp hanging over a doorway, half-way down +on the right-hand side. That was a police-station. He stared at the +lamp with his eyes wide open for several moments. Almost a minute. +Then he said “Huh” out loud. Then he looked around him cautiously on +all sides. + +The street was empty. Rain drizzled slowly. He examined the street, +the warehouses on his side of the street, the blank wall on the other +side. Then his eyes came back to the bright lamp that hung above the +door of the police-station. He sighed deeply and began to walk slowly, +ever so slowly and ponderously, towards the lamp. + +He walked up the steps, steadily, one at a time, making a loud noise. +He kicked the swing door open with his foot without taking his hands +out of his pockets. In the hallway, a constable in a black, +cone-shaped, night helmet stood facing him, pulling on his gloves. +Gypo halted and stared at the constable. + +“I have come to claim the twenty pounds reward offered by the Farmers’ +Union for information concerning Francis Joseph McPhillip,” he said in +a deep, low voice. + + + +CHAPTER II + +At thirty-five minutes past seven Francis Joseph McPhillip shot +himself dead while trying to escape from No. 44 Titt Street, his +father’s house. The house had been surrounded by Detective-Sergeant +McCartney and ten men. Hanging by his left hand from the sill of the +back-bedroom window on the second floor, McPhillip put two bullets +into McCartney’s left shoulder. While he was trying to fire again, his +left hand slipped and lost its hold. The pistol muzzle struck the edge +of the sill. The bullet shot upwards and entered McPhillip’s brain +through the right temple. + +When they picked him out of the orange box in the back garden where he +fell, he was quite dead. + + + +CHAPTER III + +At twenty-five minutes past eight Gypo left the police-station by a +door in the rear of the building. In his pocket he carried twenty +pounds in Treasury notes, the reward for information concerning +Francis Joseph McPhillip. + +He walked quickly along a narrow passage into a dark lane. The lane +was empty. So it appeared at first. But as Gypo stood hidden in the +doorway of an old empty house, piercing the darkness with wild eyes, +he heard a footstep. The footstep made him start. It was the first +human footstep he had heard, the first sound of his fellow human +beings, since he had become an informer and . . . and an outcast. + +Immediately he felt that the footstep was menacing, as if he were +certain that it belonged to somebody that was tracking him. How +strange! Within the course of ninety minutes the customary sound of a +human footstep had, by some evil miracle, become menacing. Ninety +minutes ago, his ears would not have challenged the sound of a human +footstep, no more than they would have challenged the sound of the +breath coming normally from his lungs. But now they pricked into +attention at the trudging shuffle that approached from the left. His +heart began to pant. + +Of course it was nobody of consequence. It was only a ragged old woman +of ill fame, with a debauched face and melancholy eyes. She paused +drunkenly in front of him, muttering something unintelligible. Then +she bared her ragged teeth. She spat and passed on without speaking. +Was it an omen? Gypo did not notice that it was. He merely listened to +the sound of her footsteps, splashing carelessly through the pools. + +Then he looked ahead of him furtively and moved off with the careful +listening, stooping movement of a man wandering alone at night in a +forest gorge where lions are about. He turned a corner and came face +to face with a blaze of light and a street with shops and crowds of +people going about. At first he shuddered with fear. Then he swore and +drew in a deep breath. What had he to fear? He knew the street well. +Who was going to interfere with him? His giant fists clawed up, like +talons enraged, and the muscles of his throat and shoulders stiffened. +He imagined himself throttling these enemies who might be inclined to +assault him. He felt comforted, reminded by this pressure of his +muscles, of his enormous strength. He settled his little round hat +jauntily on the back of his head. He stuck his hands in his trousers +pockets. He swung his legs and rolled like a sailor out of the lane, +arrogantly, into the glare of the street. + +At the same slow, swinging, rolling gait, he crossed the street +through the traffic without pausing, without stepping aside, without +looking to the right or to the left. Motor-cars, carts, bicycles and +wagons swerved to avoid him. He went through them without looking at +them, like a great monster walking through a cloud of ants, that are +carrying on their futile and infinitesimal labours about his feet. +They turned towards him to curse, but those that saw his face gaped +and passed into the night with the curse unuttered. His face, with the +humps on it shining in the glare of the lamps, was like a subtle mask. +It was so . . . so dead. + +He walked straight across the pavement into a public-house. He kicked +the swing door open with his foot, without taking his hands out of his +pockets, just as he had entered the police-station. He put a pound +note on the counter with a slap of his palm and uttered the one word: +“Pint.” He stared at the counter until the drink was served. He put +the measure to his head, opened his throat and swallowed the contents +at one draught. He uttered a deep sigh and handed the empty glass to +the barman. He nodded. When he received another pint and his change, +he walked over to the corner and sat down. + +Now he definitely set out to form a plan of action. It had been a +habit with McPhillip and himself. Whenever they had done any “stunt,” +they immediately went into a public-house, got drinks and set about +forming plans for an alibi. + +“Never bother about yer ‘getaway’ until yer job is done,” used to be a +motto of McPhillip’s. + +Suddenly Gypo realized what a clever fellow McPhillip must really have +been. He used to make plans so easily. They jumped to his mind one +after the other, like lightning. Gypo had never given any thought to +the matter of plans. He often used to say to McPhillip with a queer +glassy look in his eyes: “Mac, you bite the easy side o’ the cheese. I +got to do all the rough work an’ you do all the thinkin’. Strikes me +you get away with it easy, mate.” + +Now, for the first time, he realized the difficulty of making a plan +without McPhillip. When he had to think it out for himself it appeared +to be devilish work. His brain got all in a tangle and he could make a +beginning nowhere. He gathered himself together several times, with +set lips and stiffened back, like a horse stiffening for a great tug +at an immense weight, but it was no use. He could not overcome the +weight that seemed to fall on his brain every time his sensibilities +approached it, probing tentatively for information. Sitting on a deal +bench at the rear of the bar, with his legs crossed and his pint of +porter in his right hand, held in front of him, with his elbow resting +on his knee and the froth of the porter dripping from the glass slowly +on to the tip of his raised boot, he stared at the ground, in an agony +of complicated thought. His little tattered brown hat, perched on the +top of his skull, looked like a magic charm, endowed with reason and +knowledge, mounting guard over his stupid strength. + +He had not even cleared his brain for a beginning with this devilish +work of making a plan when he was interrupted by the arrival of Katie +Fox. She had sat down beside him before he knew she was there. He was +so immersed in his struggles that she nudged him and spoke before he +was aware of her presence. + +“How’s things, Gypo?” she cried in her hard thin voice, as she nudged +him in the ribs. “Are ye flush enough to give us a wet?” + +Gypo jumped to his feet, spilling half his pint. He gazed at her with +fright in his eyes and his chest heaved. Then he recognized her and +sat down immediately, flurried and confused by his display of +excitement. + +“Hello, Katie,” he muttered, pretending to be vexed, “ye shouldn’t +come in that way on a fellah. I look around me an’ there ye are +proddin’ me in the ribs. Why the divil didn’t ye shout same as ye +always do?” + +She put the backs of her thin, red-veined hands on her hips and stared +at him in amazement, partly real, partly born of that love of emphatic +gesture and movement and speech which is a peculiar characteristic of +the women of the Dublin slums. Katie was a woman of the slums. Her +father had been an employee of the Corporation and her mother was a +charwoman. As a girl Katie worked in a biscuit factory. Her own beauty +of body and the grinding toil in the factory made her discontented. +She joined the Revolutionary Organization. That was six years ago. +After that, her first plunge from the straight path of the tremendous +respectability and conservatism of the slum woman, she was led by +excess of feeling into one pitfall after another. Finally she passed +out of the ranks of respectability altogether by being expelled from +the Revolutionary Organization on a charge of public prostitution. Now +she had become an abandoned woman, known as such even among the +prostitutes of the brothel quarter, a drug fiend, a slattern, an +irresponsible creature. Traces of her young beauty still remained in +the deep blue eyes, that were melancholy and tired and twitched at the +edges, in her long lean figure now grown emaciated, in her black hair +that strayed carelessly about her face from beneath the rim of her +ragged red hat. But the mouth, that tell-tale register of vice, had +completely lost the sumptuous but delicate curves of innocent girlhood +and blossoming maturity. The lips hung down at the sides. They were +swollen in the middle. Their colour had died out and had been renewed +with loud vulgarity by cheap paint. The poor tormented soul peered out +of the young face, old before the years had time to wrinkle it, sad, +hard and stupefied. + +She thrust out her little chin and turned her head sideways, turning +down the corners of her lips farther at one side of her mouth. + +“I thought as much,” she said slowly, contorting her lips and face as +she spoke. “That’s why I came in unknownst and sat down beside ye. I +saw ye be chance, me fine buck, as I was talkin’ to Biddy Mac over at +the corner opposite Kane’s. So I just prowled in to see ye on the +quiet. But it’s clear as daylight that ye don’t want to see me. Not +while ye got money to fill yersel’ with porter. It was a different +story, wasn’t it, this mornin’ when ye begged the price of a cup o’ +tay off me, an’ me that didn’t see the colour of a half-crown for +three days runnin’. Oh then——” + +“Now shut yer gob, will ye,” interrupted Gypo excitedly. “It’s just +like ye takin’ a man up wrong that way. Sure I didn’t mane anythin’ +like that atall. Only ye just came in on me all of a sudden. What are +ye havin’?” + +Katie looked at him in high dudgeon, still with her chin thrust out, +her head turned sideways, her lips turned downwards and her hands on +her hips. She murmured: “Double Gin,” without moving her eyes from +Gypo’s face. Gypo arose and slouched up to the counter for the drink. +Her eyes followed him shrewdly and she kept nodding her head slowly at +his immense back. + +Her relationship with Gypo was of that irregular kind which is hard to +describe by means of one word. She was undoubtedly not his wife and in +the same manner she could not be called his mistress. But their +relationship partook both of the nature of lawful marriage and of the +concubinage that is sanctified by natural love. Katie loved Gypo +because he was strong, big, silent, perhaps also because he was stupid +and her ready slum “smartness” could always outwit his lumbering +brain. Whenever Gypo had any money he spent it with her. Sometimes +when he was without any money, she brought him home with her and +provided him with his breakfast next morning. On the whole they were +good friends. During the past six months after Gypo had been expelled +from the Revolutionary Organization and left without friends or money +or employment, Katie had stood between him and death from exposure or +starvation. She loved him in her own amazing way. The last remains of +her womanhood loved him as she might have loved a mate. But those +shreds of love lived charily among the rank weeds of vice that +flourished around them. It was only at times that they peeped out and +covered the desert waste of her soul with the soft warmth and +brilliance of their light. Each kindly act of pity for the lumbering +giant was counteracted by a score of other acts that were vicious and +cruel. While Gypo, with the nonchalance of the healthy strong man, +took her for granted as if she were a natural contrivance of life, +like fresh air or food. He would only notice her absence when she was +needed. + +He brought the gin and handed it to her. She took it in silence. She +sipped it slowly, holding it within an inch of her lips, staring at +the ground as she drank, shivering now and again, as if the drink were +ice cold. Gypo watched her suspiciously out of the corner of his eyes. + +“What brought ye around here anyway?” he said at last. + +He was extremely irritated that she should have come in on him, just +at that moment, when he was trying to make a plan, when he had the +money of his betrayal hot on his person, without being yet embalmed by +a plausible excuse for its presence. He was irritated, but in a +confused and ignorant way. He had not reasoned out a plausible excuse, +even for his irritation. + +Katie held her empty glass upside down in her hand and looked at him, +with her blue eyes almost shut. + +“Why, what’s the matter with ye, kiddo?” she asked arrogantly, +encouraged by the gin. “Why shouldn’t I knock around here if I want +to. I’m not employed by a charitable institution at so much an hour to +keep out o’ yer honour’s way, ha, ha, when it’s yer lordship’s +pleasure to come into this pub. There’s no law agin me comin’ around +this part o’ the city at this hour, is there?” She worked herself into +a fit of anger gradually as she spoke. She had an idea that Gypo was +concealing something important from her and that her arrival at that +moment gave her some power over him. That peculiar intuition of the +slum woman could pierce the surface of Gypo’s embarrassment, but +without being able to probe into the real nature of it. She pushed +back her coat with her left hand and put the back of her hand against +her reddish frayed blouse below the heart. How slight her breasts +were! + +“Now Katie—” began Gypo. + +But she interrupted him immediately. She had been only waiting for him +to begin to speak in order to interrupt him. She was quite happy when +given the opportunity of a “barge” of this description. + +“Go on with ye,” she cried, “pug nose! I know ye, Ya. You’re bum all +right. Yer all right as long as ye get nothin’. But as soon as ye can +smell yersel’ after a good meal an’ there a gingle in yer rags, ye +stick yer nose into the air an’ ye know nobody. D’ye know what I’m +goin’ to tell ye, Gypo? D’ye know what I’m goin’ to tell ye? Yer a +mane, lyin’, deceitful twister an’ I got yer measure from now on. +Don’t look for nothin’ from me from now on, my fine bucko. No then; +’twill be little use for ye.” + +Gypo became nervous and shifted his huge body. He wanted to let his +left hand fly out and hit her in the jaw. One slight blow would make +her senseless. But he had never struck a woman, owing to some obscure +prejudice or other. Still, he was terribly tired of her. Now that he +had this money on his person, without as yet having decided what to do +with it, he wanted to be free from her. + +“You shut up,” he cried angrily, “or I’ll fix ye. Haven’t I given ye a +drink?” Then he added half-heartedly: “D’ye want another drink?” + +Katie was still staring at him. Suddenly a change came over her. +Something suggested itself to her peculiar reason and she changed her +attitude. + +“Don’t mind what I said now, Gypo,” she continued in a low mournful +voice, looking at the ground with hanging lower lip, like a person +overwhelmed and utterly defeated by some persistent calamity. “God +Almighty, the world is so hard that a person loses her mind +altogether. Misery, misery, misery an’ nothin’ but misery. You’re as +bad off as mesel’, Gypo, so ye know what I mane. No man has pity on +us. Every hand is agin us because we have got nothin’. Why is that, +will ye tell me, Gypo? Is God Himself agin us too? Ha, ha, o’ course +we were both of us Communists and members o’ the Revolutionary +Organization, so we know there’s no God. But supposin’ there was a +God, what the hell is He doin’——” + +“Katie,” cried Gypo angrily, “none o’ that talk. Lave God alone.” + +“God forgive me, yer right,” cried Katie, beginning to sob. But she +pulled herself together suddenly with surprising speed and turned to +Gypo almost sharply. Her eyes narrowed slightly and a quaint weird +smile lit up her face. There was a trace of beauty in her face under +the influence of the smile, a trace of beauty and merriment. “Tell us +where ye got all the money, Gypo. Ye had none this mornin’.” + +Gypo started in spite of himself and glanced at her in terror. He +struggled violently, trying to formulate an excuse for his sudden +wealth. He fumed within himself for not having made a plan. +Unconsciously he cursed McPhillip, whom he had sent to his death, for +not having made a plan. He looked at Katie with glaring eyes and open +lips. Then he bent towards her, tried to speak and said nothing. But +she misunderstood him. + +“Ya,” she said, “I knew ye were yellow. Have ye robbed a church or +what, an’ are ye afraid of bein’ turned into a goat be the priests?” + +“Shut up,” he hissed suddenly, gripping at the word “robbery” and +hooking a plan on to it. It was a customary word, a friendly thing +that he recognized, with which he felt at home. He bent down, with +quivering face, eager to hurl out the words of his plan before he +could forget them again. “It wasn’t a church. It was a sailor off an +American ship. I went through him at the back o’ Cassidy’s pub in +Jerome Street. But if ye say a word ye know what yer goin’ to get.” + +“Who? Me?” Katie laughed out loud and looked at him with emphatic +scorn over her shoulder. “What d’ye take me for? An informer or what?” + +“Who’s an informer?” cried Gypo, gripping her right knee with his left +hand. The huge hand closed about the thin frail knee and immediately +the whole leg went rigid. Katie’s whole body shrivelled at the mere +touch of the vast strength. + +There was silence for a second. Gypo stared at Katie with a look of +ignorant fear on his face. The word had terrified and infuriated him. +It was the first time he had heard it uttered in the new sense that it +now held for him. Katie, hypnotized by the face, panted and looked +back at him. + +“What are ye talkin’ about informin’ for?” panted Gypo again, +tightening his grip on her knee. He had not meant to hurt. He merely +wanted to give emphasis to his words. + +“Lemme go,” screamed Katie, unable to endure the pain any longer and +terrified by the look in Gypo’s face and by his strange behaviour. + +Gypo let go immediately. The barman came striding over, wiping his +hands in his apron. He pointed toward the door. Gypo got to his feet +and stared at the barman, glad to have a man in front of him, against +whom he could vent his ignorant rage. He lowered his head and he was +about to rush forward when Katie hung on to him and cried out. + +“Come on, Gypo,” she cried rapidly, “let’s get out of here. Let him +alone, Barney. He’s got a few pints on him. He didn’t mane any harm. +Come on, kid.” + +Gypo allowed himself to be dragged out backwards by the right hand +into the street. They stood together on the kerbstone, with Katie’s +arm entwined in his. + +“Come on up to Biddy Burke’s place,” she whispered in a friendly tone. +“Come on up.” + +In front stretched a main road, brilliantly lighted and thronged with +people. The light, the people, the suggestion of gaiety and of freedom +attracted Gypo. To the rear stretched a dark, evil-smelling lane. It +repelled him. There was where Katie wanted to bring him, down towards +the slum district and the brothel quarter. Down there were his own +haunts, people who knew him. He feared the darkness, the lurking +shadows, the suggestion of men hiding in alleyways to attack him. Out +there in front he could wander off, among strange people who did not +care a straw about informers. + +“Come on Gyp, down to Biddy’s and buy us a sniff,” murmured Katie +entreatingly, in a soft voice. “Yer flush, aren’t ye? I know well them +American sailors carry a quare wad around with ’em. Let’s walk along. +I’m perished with the cold.” + +“No,” muttered Gypo in a surly voice. “I’m goin’ down to the House to +book a bed for the night.” + +He now remembered with pleasure that the reason for his going to the +police-station was the fact that he wanted money for a bed. So why not +go and buy a bed? It was a good excuse to get rid of her. + +“What are ye talkin’ about a bed for?” cried Katie angrily, clutching +at his arm. Then her voice softened again. There was an eager glitter +in her eyes. “Sure it’s not thinkin’ about a bed ye are when ye got +money in yer pocket. Haven’t I got a bed anyway, an’ if it’s not good +enough for ye, sure we can get a bed at Biddy’s, seein’ ye have money +in yer pocket.” + +“I don’t want yer bed,” snarled Gypo, “an’ I’m not goin’ near Biddy +Burke’s. I been robbed by the thievin’ old robber often enough.” + +“Ye don’t want me bed, don’t ye?” cried Katie, losing her temper again +completely. “Ye were glad enough to have it last week when I brought +ye in outa the rain like a drownded rat. Wha’?” + +“Now I’ll give ye nothin’ for yer imperence,” grumbled Gypo. “Yer too +ignorant. That’s what ye are.” + +She moved up under his chin and held her two clenched fists to his +jaws. They looked white and tiny against the size of his face. + +“All right,” she hissed, “you watch out for yersel’, Gypo Nolan.” + +She turned on her heel and went off at a fierce walk to the left, +muttering curses as she disappeared rapidly into the darkness. Gypo +stared after her, listening. He strained his neck in an effort to +catch a final mumble of sharp words that floated up to him through the +dark lane, as her obscure figure drifted around a corner. Then he +shrugged his shoulders with a gasp as if he had just watched a +valuable possession suddenly drop over a cliff. With his hands in his +trousers pockets he stared at the ground. + +“Look here, Katie,” he called out suddenly, reaching out his right +hand impotently towards the corner off the lane, around which she had +swept. Then he put his hand back into his pocket and gripped the tight +wad of Treasury notes. He wanted now to give her some money. She had +been good to him. He began to walk up the lane slowly. There was no +need to hurry. He knew where to find her. He must not let her go like +that. + +But he had not gone ten yards before he halted again. He turned about +and walked back quickly into the main road. He had suddenly remembered +a terrifying thing. + +Supposing somebody were to come into Biddy Burke’s and say that Frank +McPhillip had been killed owing to information being given to the +police? They were sure to say that. They would see him there with +money in his pocket. They would suspect. . . . + +He turned to the right, past the corner of the main road. He went +twenty yards down the street and then brought his two feet together +like a soldier coming to a halt on parade. He wheeled inwards, still +in the same mechanical manner, towards a shop window. He stood at +ease, clasping his hands behind his back in military manner. Somehow, +it gave peace to his distracted thoughts, as if he had suddenly given +over the responsibility of his thoughts and actions to an imaginary +superior officer. + +Into his resting mind pleasant memories came, distant pleasant +memories like day-dreams on a summer day, dreamt on the banks of a +rock-strewn river, among the flowering heather. They were memories of +his youth. They came to him in a strange bewildered manner, as if +afraid of the dark, ferocious mind into which they came. Gypo stared +at them fiercely, with bulging lips, as if they were enemies taunting +him. Then gradually he softened towards them. Then a mad longing +seized him for the protection of the environment of his youth, the +country-side of a Tipperary village, the little farm, the big +red-faced healthy peasant who was his father, his long-faced +kind-hearted mother, who hoped that he would become a priest. + +He wrinkled up his face and looked at his youth intently. He stiffened +himself, as if he were about to hurl himself by sheer force back +through the intervening years, of sin and sorrow and misery, to the +peace and gentleness and monotony of life, in that little village at +the foot of the Galtees. + +Various, intimate, foolish, little recollections crowded into his +mind. He remembered goats, asses’ foals, rocks in a mountain torrent, +a saying of the village smith, a glance from a girl, his first drink +of wine stolen in the sacristy of the parish church while he was +serving Mass. Thousands of memories came and went rapidly. They passed +like soldiers before a saluting-point, some gay, some sad, some dim, +some distinct and almost articulate as if they had happened a moment +ago. + +Suddenly he felt a wet daub coming down each cheek. He started. He was +shedding tears. The horror of the act made him stare wild eyed. He +swore aloud. He bared his teeth of their covering of thick lips and +ground them. His youth went out like a candle that is quenched by a +squall in a long passage. The grinning spectre of the present became +real once more. He shut his mouth. He sighed very deeply. Putting his +hands in his pockets again, he walked off at his habitual slouch, with +his head hanging slightly forward, hung on the pivot of his neck like +a punchball. + +“I must make a plan,” he said to himself once more. + +Somehow he was convinced that the Revolutionary Organization already +suspected him of having given information concerning McPhillip. He +felt that he was being sought for already. So he must make a plan. He +must have a plausible excuse. + +“If ye got a good aliby,” McPhillip used to say, “the divil himself +couldn’t fasten anythin’ on ye.” + +But how was he going to get an alibi for himself? He walked the whole +length of the road three times irresolutely, with his eyes fixed on +the ground. He was unable to think of anything. His mind kept +branching off into the contemplation of silly things that had nothing +at all to do with the question, the favourite for the Grand National +and whether Johnny Grimes, the comedian, had drowned himself in the +Canal or whether he had been murdered and then thrown in; the two main +questions that were agitating the Dublin slums just then. + +At one moment he decided to go to the Dunboy Lodging House, pay for a +bed and go to sleep. But immediately he was terrified at this +suggestion. They might know already that he had given information. +Then maybe, while he was asleep, somebody would be sent into his +little cell with a loaded stick to murder him in his sleep. Or they +might give him “the bum’s rush,” breaking his neck silently like a +rabbit’s neck. He pictured the little narrow wooden cells in the +lodging house, the silence of the night, broken only by the dismal +sound of snoring on all sides, an indiscriminate number of unknown +people snoring loudly, dreaming, grumbling, snoring and sleeping in +all directions, while _“they”_ approached silently to murder him. + +He shuddered. Perspiration stood out on his forehead. Eagerly, with +relief, he decided to keep in the open, where he could use his hands +and his strength. If he were going to be murdered he would be murdered +with his hands gripping a dead throat. + +Then at last he stood stock-still and thumped himself in the chest. + +“Well, I’m damned!” he cried. “Amn’t I an awful fool? Why didn’t I +think of it before? They’ll be wonderin’ why I’m not there already. +Everybody in the town must ’a heard of it be now, an’ me that was his +pal an’ I not there to say a word to his mother. They’ll surely +suspect something if I don’t go at once.” + +Narrowing his eyes, he set out at a smart pace in the direction of +McPhillip’s home in Titt Street. He took his hands out of his pockets +and swung them by his sides after the manner of a policeman. He threw +his head back and towered like a giant over those whom he passed. + +He passed them, almost over them, like a being utterly remote, a +unique creation. + + + +CHAPTER IV + +Titt Street was in turmoil like an ant-hill that has been rooted up by +the ponderous hoof of a cow. Under the scattered street lamps, between +the parallel rows of two-storied, red-brick houses, groups of +wild-eyed men were talking. The pale light of the lamps showed the +drizzling rain falling like steam on their rough, dirty clothes, on +their thick-veined necks, on their excited faces, on their gnarled +hands that were raised in gesticulation. Their voices filled the +hollow darkness of the street with a hushed murmur, that rose and fell +turbulently, like the chattering of a torrent coming through rocks. +Their voices were nervous, as if they awaited a storm at sea. + +Old women with shawls over their heads flitted about like shadows. +They darted from doorway to doorway, talking, making threatening +gestures at something remote, crossing themselves with their haggard +faces turned upwards to the sky. Young women walked arm-in-arm, +slowly, up and down the street. They looked at No. 44 as they passed +it, in silence, with awe in their open, red lips. + +No. 44 was the centre of interest. The horror that had come to it had +aroused the whole street. It had aroused the whole quarter. Three +streets away, bar attendants stood gaping behind their counters, while +some man, with an excited red face and a big mouth, recounted the +manner of Frank McPhillip’s death, with oaths and frenzied +gesticulations. Everywhere, in the streets, in the public-houses, in +the tenement kitchens, where old red-nosed men craned forward their +shrivelled necks to hear the dreadful news, one word was whispered +with fear and hatred. + +It was the word “Informer.” + +Gypo heard that word as he reached the junction of Titt Street and +Bryan Road—a long wide road, lined with little shops, the sidewalks +strewn with papers, little heaps of dirt in the gutters, two tram-car +lines rusted by the drizzling rain, groups of loafers at every +lamp-post, at the public-house doors and on the Canal Bridge, where +the road disappeared abruptly over the horizon, as if it had fallen +over a precipice into space. He was passing Ryan’s public-house that +stood at the corner, half in Titt Street, half in Bryan Road. The word +came to him through the open door of the public bar. He had slowed +down his pace on reaching the neighbourhood and when he heard the word +uttered, he brought his left leg up to the right and instead of +thrusting it forward for another pace, he dropped it heavily but +noiselessly to the wet pavement of red and white glazed brick +diamonds, with which the front of the public-house was decorated. + +A squall of wind came around the corner just then and buffeted him +about the body. He opened his mouth and nostrils. He distended his +eyes. He thrust forward his head and listened. + +“There must ’a been information gev, ’cos how else could they—” a tall +lean man was saying, as he stood in the middle of the sawdust-covered +floor, holding a pint of black frothing porter in his right hand. + +Then a burly carter, with a grey sack around his shoulders like a +cape, jostled the man who was speaking, in an awkward attempt to cross +the floor through the crowd. But the man had said enough. Gypo knew +that they were talking about the death of Francis Joseph McPhillip and +that they suspected that information had been given. + +Again the idea came into his head that he must form a plan without a +moment’s delay. But the inside of his head was perfectly empty, with +his forehead pressing against it, hot and congested, as if he had been +struck a violent blow with a flat stick. The idea floundered about in +his head, repeating itself aimlessly, like a child calling for help in +an empty house. “No,” he muttered to himself, as he gripped his clasp +knife fiercely in his trousers pocket, “I can’t make out anythin’ +standin’ here in the rain in front of a pub. Better go ahead.” + +He hurled himself around the corner against the squall into Titt +Street with almost drunken violence. Then he realized with terror the +fate that menaced him if . . . He saw the groups under the lamp-posts. +He saw the flitting women. He saw the youths, hushed, strained, +expectant. He heard the rumble of human sound. The dark, sombre, mean +street that had been familiar to him until now, suddenly appeared +strange, as if he had never seen it before, as if it had suddenly +become inhabited by dread monsters that were intent on devouring him. +It appeared to him rather, that he had wandered, through a foolish +error of judgment, into a strange and hostile foreign country where he +did not know the language. + +He glared about him aggressively, as he walked up the street. He +planted his feet on the ground firmly, walking with his legs wide +apart, with his shoulders squared, with his head thrust forward into +the wind like the jib boom of a ship. + +As he was passing an open doorway somebody cried “hist.” He halted +like a challenged sentry. He wheeled savagely towards the doorway and +called out. + +“Who are cryin’ hist after?” + +“It’s only me,” chirped an old lady in a clean white apron, a woman he +knew well. “I thought ye were Jim Delaney, the coalheaver. I got to +whisper on account o’ me throat. I got a cold a fortnight ago, +scrubbin’ floors out at Clontarf, an’ it’s getting worse instead of +better. The doctor——” + +But Gypo glanced angrily at her bandaged throat and her dim blue eyes +and passed on with a grunt without listening to her further. He +arrived at No. 44 and entered through the open door without knocking. + +No. 44 was the most respectable house in the street. Its red-brick +front was cleaner than the other fronts. Its parlour window was +unbroken and was decorated with clean curtains of Nottingham lace. Its +door was freshly painted black. Its owner Jack McPhillip, the +bricklayer, had already begun the ascent from the working class to the +middle class. He was a Socialist and chairman of his branch of the +trade union, but a thoroughly respectable, conservative Socialist, +utterly fanatical in his hatred of the status of a working man. The +whole house was in keeping with his views on life. The door opened on +a little narrow hall, with the stair-way rising midway in it. The +stair-way was spotlessly clean, with brightly polished brass rods +holding down the well-washed linoleum carpet that struggled upwards +rigidly to the top of it. From the door, in daytime, the backyard +could be seen. In the backyard there were outhouses and stables, for +Jack McPhillip kept a yellow she-goat, three pigs, a flock of white +hens and a little pony and trap, in which he was in the habit of +driving out into the country on Sundays, in summer, with his wife, to +visit his wife’s relatives at Talmuc. To the right of the hall there +were two doors. The first door opened into the parlour. In the parlour +there was a piano, eight chairs of all sizes and sorts, innumerable +photographs, “ornaments,” and absolutely no room for anybody to move +about without touching something or other. The second door opened into +the kitchen, a large clean room with a cement floor, an open grate and +a narrow bed in the corner farthest from the door. The bed belonged to +old Ned Lawless, the epileptic relative of Mrs. McPhillip. He lived in +the house and received his meals and half a crown per week, in +exchange for his labours in looking after the backyard. He was never +clean, the only dirty thing in the house. On the second floor there +were three rooms. One was used by the old couple. The second by the +only daughter Mary, a girl of twenty-one who worked in the city as a +clerk, in the offices of Gogarty and Hogan, solicitors and +commissioners for oaths. The third room, opening on the backyard, had +been closed for six months. It had been Francis’s bedroom. That +evening he had just entered it to go to bed when the police arrived. + +When Gypo entered, the house was crowded with neighbours who had come +in to sympathize. Some were even standing in the hallway. Gypo walked +through the hallway and pushed his way into the kitchen. Nobody +noticed him. He sat down on the floor to the left of the door, with +his back to the wall and his right hand grasping his left wrist in +front of his drawn-up knees. He sat in silence for almost a minute +waiting for an opportunity to speak to Mrs. McPhillip. He could see +her through the people in the room, sitting on a chair to the right of +the fire. She had black wooden rosary beads wound round and round her +fingers. There were tears in her pale blue eyes and streaming down her +great white fat cheeks. Her corpulent body flowed over the chair on +all sides like a load of hay on a cart. Her long check apron hid her +feet. She was looking dimly at the fire, murmuring prayers silently +with her lips. She nodded her head now and again in answer to +something that was said to her. + +She held Gypo’s attention like a powerful magnet. Even when somebody +came between his eyes and her body, he stared through the intervening +body as if it were transparent. His eyes were centred on her forehead +and on her grey-white hair, that had a yellowish sheen at the top of +the skull where the parting was. He was thinking how good she had been +to him. She had often fed him. More precious still, she always had a +word of sympathy for him, a kind look, a tender, soft, smooth touch of +the hand on his shoulder! These were the things his strange soul +remembered and treasured. There were no others who were soft and +gentle to him like she was. Often when he and Francis came into the +house at dawn, after having done some revolutionary “stunt,” she used +to get up, in her bare fat feet, with a skirt drawn over her +night-dress. She used to move about silently with quivering lips, +cooking breakfast. It was a huge meal from her hands, an +indiscriminate lavish Irish meal, sausages, eggs, bacon, all together +on one plate. + +And she would often press half a crown into Gypo’s hand when nobody +was looking, whispering: “May the Virgin protect ye an’ won’t ye look +after Frankie an’ see that he comes to no harm.” + +“She is a good woman,” thought Gypo, impersonally, looking at her. + +Then the kitchen emptied suddenly in the rear of a fat short man with +a pompous appearance, who wore a dark raincoat and a black bowler hat. +Every one made way for him going out the door and there were whispers. +Some scowled at him angrily, but it was obvious that everybody had a +great respect for him and envied him, even those that scowled at him. +He was an important Labour politician, the parliamentary +representative of the constituency that comprised Titt Street and the +surrounding slums. This important politician had been a bricklayer +with Jack McPhillip in his youth and Jack McPhillip was still his main +supporter. + +When the politician had disappeared there were only five people left +in the room, other than Jack McPhillip and his wife. Three men in the +corner by the window, to the left of Gypo, had their heads close +together, whispering with that sudden intimacy that is born of the +presence of a calamity, or of something that has a common interest. +Gypo knew two of them. Two of them were members of the Revolutionary +Organization. + +“That skunk Bartly Mulholland is here,” muttered Gypo to himself, “an’ +that’s Tommy Connor with him. Mulholland is lookin’ for Frankie +McPhillip’s job on the Intelligence Department, I believe; an’ I +suppose that big stiff Connor is trainin’ to be his butty. Huh.” + +Jack McPhillip sat on the narrow bed in the other corner, almost +opposite Gypo. He was talking to two women, who had chairs close to +the bed. They had pushed in to talk to McPhillip as soon as the +politician had left. They were nodding their heads and fidgeting, with +that amazing prodigality of emotion, which women of the very lowest +rung of the middle class ladder display, when in the presence of +members of the working class who are still _in puris naturalibus_. One +was the wife of the Titt Street “small grocer.” The other was the wife +of John Kennedy the lorry driver, who had just set up in business “for +himself.” + +Jack McPhillip sat on the bed, with his right shoulder leaning against +the pillow. One foot was almost on the floor. The other foot was on +the bed. He held his right hand, palm outwards, in front of his face, +as if he were trying to drive away some imaginary idea, as he talked. + +“There ye are now,” he was saying; “see what that man has done for +himsel’ in life. That’s what every man should aim at doin’, instead of +jig actin’ and endin’ up by bringin’ disgrace on his class an’ on his +family. Johnny Daly is a member o’ Parliament this day because he +spent any money and time he had to spare on his education. He looked +after his business and he did his best to educate and better the +condition of his fellow-men. That’s what every man should do. But my +son . . . I put him into a good job as an insurance agent an’ if he +had minded himself he’d be well on his way now towards a respectable +position in life for himself, but instead o’ that——” + +Suddenly there was an amazing interruption that caused everybody to +start. Gypo had spoken in a deep thunderous voice that filled the +whole house. + +“I’m sorry for yer trouble, Mrs. McPhillip,” he cried. + +The sentence re-echoed in the silence that followed it. It had been +uttered in a shout. Gypo’s voice had suddenly broken loose from his +lungs into a spontaneous expression of the emotion that shook him into +a passion of feeling, looking at Mrs. McPhillip. He felt suddenly that +he must express that feeling forcibly. Not by a whisper, or a plain +restrained statement, but by a savage shout that would brook no +contradiction. The shout wandered about in the room long after its +sound had vanished. Nobody spoke. Its force was too tremendous. +Everybody, for some amazing reason or other, sniffed at the smell of +fried sausages that now permeated the atmosphere of the kitchen. The +smell came from the pan still left on the fireplace, containing the +sausages that had been cooking for Francis Joseph McPhillip’s supper +when the police came. He had been so tired that he told his mother to +bring his supper to him in bed. So they still remained there, on the +side of the fireplace, forgotten. + +Then the initial amazement wore off and everybody looked at Gypo. They +saw him sitting on the floor, doubled up, bulky in his blue dungarees +that clung about his thighs like a swimming suit, with his little +round hat perched on his massive head, still staring at Mrs. +McPhillip’s face as if drawn by a magnet, unconscious of the amazement +he had caused by his shout. + +And alone of all the people in the room, Mrs. McPhillip was not +amazed. She had not started. She had not moved her eyes. Her lips +still moved in prayer. Her mind was drawn by another magnet to the +contemplation of something utterly remote from the people in that +room, utterly remote from life, to the contemplation of something that +had its roots in the mystic boundaries of eternity. + +Then Jack McPhillip jumped to a sitting posture on the bed. He grabbed +at the old tweed cap that had fallen off his grizzled grey head. + +“Oh, it’s you that’s in it, is it?” he cried. “Ye son o’ damnation!” + +He glared at Gypo so ferociously that his face began to twitch. His +face was so burned by the sun that it was almost black at a distance. +At close quarters it looked a reddish brown. He had a glass eye. The +other eye looked straight across the glass one, as if guarding it. He +had to look away from a man in order to see him. This distortion in +his vision had always filled his wife with terror, so that now she +trembled whenever he looked at her. It was so uncanny, his looking at +space like that. His body was short and slight. He was fifty years +old. + +He jumped off the bed and stood on the floor in his grey socks, his +blue waistcoat unbuttoned, the little white patch of linen on the +abdomen of his grey flannel shirt puffing in and out with his heavy +breathing, his throat contorting, his hands gripping and ungripping +restlessly. + +Mrs. McPhillip had awakened from her reverie as soon as her husband +spoke. She had started up and gripped her breast over her heart with a +dumb exclamation. Then she rubbed her two eyes hurriedly and looked at +him. As soon as she saw him, her eyes grew dim again and her body +subsided into the chair from which it had risen slightly. + +“Jack,” she cried in an agonized voice, “Jack! Jack, leave him alone. +He was Frankie’s friend. He was a friend of me dead boy’s. Let him +alone. What’s done is done.” + +“Be damned to that for a story,” cried Jack. His voice was weak and +jerky, just like the voice of his dead son. “A friend d’ye call him? +What kind of friend d’ye call that waster that never did a day’s work +in his life? That ex-policeman! He was even driven outa the police. +That’s fine company for yer son, Maggie. It’s the likes o’ him that’s +brought Frankie to his death an’ destruction. Them an’ their +revolutions. It’s in Russia they should be where they could act the +cannibal as much as they like, instead of leadin’ good honest Irishmen +astray. Why don’t they get out of here and go back to England where +they came from, with their rotten gold, gev to them be the Orangemen +to turn Ireland into an uproar, so that the Freemasons could step in +again and capture it. Ah-h-h-h, I’d like to get me fingers on yer +throat, ye——” + +He was rushing across the floor at Gypo, but the three men had jumped +up and caught him. They held him back. Gypo stared at him, as if in +perplexity, without moving. But the muscles of his shoulders +stiffened, almost unconsciously. His eyes wandered slowly from the +fuming husband to the sobbing wife, who had again turned to the fire. + +Then the people from the parlour rushed into the kitchen, attracted by +the shouting. They were headed by Mary McPhillip, the daughter of the +house. She was a handsome young woman, with a full figure, plump, with +red cheeks, a firm jaw, auburn hair cropped in the current fashion, +blue eyes that had a “sensible” look in them and a rather large mouth +that was opened wide by her excitement. Every bit of her except her +mouth belonged to an average Irishwoman of the middle class. The mouth +was a product of the slums. Its size and its propensity for disclosing +the state of the mind by exaggerated movement, which is the hallmark +of the slum girl, belied the neat elegance of the rest of the body and +of all the clothes. She was still dressed just as she had arrived from +the office, in a smart navy-blue costume which she had made herself. +The skirt was rather short, in the current fashion, and she stood with +her feet fairly wide apart, in the arrogant posture of a woman of good +family. Her well-shaped calves were covered with thin black silk +stockings. But she had her hands on her hips, unconsciously, as she +stood in front of the indiscriminate crowd that had followed her in +from the parlour, to find out what had caused the disturbance in the +kitchen. + +“What’s the row about, father?” she said. + +The accent was good, but a little too good. It was too refined. The +pronunciation of the words was too correct. It had not that careless +certainty of the born lady. She spoke in an angry tenor voice, in the +rich soft tones of the Midlands, her mother’s birthplace. Her voice +had the softness of butter, that voice which patriotic Irishmen always +associate with kindness and unassailable innocence and virtue, but +which is really the natural mask of a stern, resolute character. + +“Aren’t we bad enough,” she continued, “without your acting like a +drunken tramp? Shut up and don’t disgrace yourself.” She stamped her +right foot and cried again: “Shut up.” + +The father relaxed immediately. He began to tremble slightly. He was +very much afraid of his daughter. In spite of the power of +vituperation which he undoubtedly possessed, he had been afraid of +both his children. When Francis had become discontented and joined the +Revolutionary Organization, the father had poured out threats and +abuse for hours, almost every night, for the edification of his wife, +but when the son came in he said nothing. He was a weak, nervous +character, slightly hysterical, capable of committing any act on the +spur of the moment, but incapable of pursuing a logical course of +action resolutely. But his children were resolute. The son was +resolute in his hatred of existing conditions of society. He was a +resolute, determined revolutionary, with his father’s energy. The +daughter was resolute in her determination to get out of the slums. + +The father slipped out of the hands of the men that were holding him +and moved backwards until he reached the bed. He sat down on it +without looking at it. He wiped his forehead with his sleeve although +it was perfectly dry. But it had a prickly feeling in it, as if scores +of needles had thrust themselves out from his brain through it. He +always felt like that when he got an attack of nerves, especially +since his son became a revolutionary, and it became known that his +activities were being watched at police headquarters. + +He looked at his daughter, at first in a cowed fashion. He was afraid +of her, because she had become what he had urged her from her infancy +to become, “a lady.” He was afraid of her because she was so well +educated, because she had such “swell” friends, because she dressed so +well, because she washed herself several times a day, because she +spoke properly. But then he became irritated with all this and +remembered that he himself was a Socialist, the chairman of his branch +of the trade union, a political leader in the district, that all men +were free and equal and . . . all the pet phrases with which +respectable Socialists delude themselves into the belief that they are +philosophers and men of principle. He spoke with a ring of indignation +and of warning in his voice. + +“Am I to be called a tramp by me own daughter in me own house,” he +cried, “when I tell this ruffian his true character? Yes, an’ every +other ruffian that’s the curse o’ the workin’-class movement with +their talk of violence an’ murder an’ revolution. All me life I have +stood straight for the cause of me fellow-workers. I was one o’ the +first men to stand up for Connolly an’ the cause o’ Socialism, but I +always said that the greatest enemies o’ the workin’ class were those +o’ their own kind that advocated violence. I . . .” + +“I told you to shut up,” said Mary in a calm, low voice, as she walked +over to the bed, with her hands still on her hips. “It’s just like +you,” she almost hissed, putting her doubled fists into the little +pockets of her jacket. “It’s just like you to go back on your own +son.” + +She did not know why she was saying this, but she felt some force +driving her on in opposition to her father, in defence of her dead +brother. Perhaps it was the audience she had behind her. Because, +strangely enough, she herself hated Frankie for belonging to the +Revolutionary Organization, since she got a position two years before +as clerk in the offices of Gogarty and Hogan. Before that she had been +a revolutionary herself, but not a member of any organization. She +used to attend meetings and cheer and get into arguments with +irritated old gentlemen, etc. But during the past two years her +outlook on life had undergone a subtle change, gradual but definite. +At first she began to get “disillusioned,” as she used to tell +Francis, with the blasé air of a young girl of nineteen. Then she used +to lecture him on the desirability of keeping better company. This was +at the time when she made the acquaintance of Joseph Augustine Short, +a young gentleman who was serving his apprenticeship with Gogarty and +Hogan and wore plus fours and left Harcourt Street Station every +Sunday morning, to play golf down the country somewhere. Finally, she +became opposed violently “to the whole theory of revolution,” as being +degenerating and “subversive of all moral ideas.” She became religious +and got the idea into her head that she could convert Commandant Dan +Gallagher, the leader of the revolutionary movement. All this later +development had been quite recent, however, and had not matured fully +in her character. It was yet merely plastic. It had not become a fixed +habit of thought, surrounded by deep and bitter prejudices, that form +themselves into “firm convictions.” + +For that reason she had responded suddenly to that strange exaltation, +born of hatred for the law, which is traditional and hereditary in the +slums. The one glorious romance of the slums is the feeling of intense +hatred against the oppressive hand of the law, which sometimes +stretches out to strike some one, during a street row, during an +industrial dispute, during a Nationalist uprising. It is a clarion +call to all the spiritual emotion that finds no other means of +expression in that sordid environment, neither in art, nor in +industry, nor in commercial undertakings, nor in the more reasonable +searchings for a religious understanding of the universal creation. + +“I stand by what Frankie has done,” she cried, turning to the people. +“I don’t agree with him in politics, but every man has a right to his +opinions and every man should fight for his rights according to . . .” +she got confused and stammered a little. Then she raised her hand +suddenly with an enthusiastic gesture and cried in a loud voice: “He +was my brother anyway and I’m going to stand up for him.” + +Then she suddenly put her handkerchief to her nose and blew it +fiercely. There was a loud murmur of applause. The father made a +half-hearted attempt to say something, but he subsided. Mrs. McPhillip +was heard to mumble something, but nobody paid any attention to her. +Nobody noticed her except Gypo, who still sat on the floor staring at +her, fondling the memory of her past goodness to him, like a sumptuous +luxury that he must soon relinquish. Although he had been the cause of +all the excitement, he was now forgotten in the still greater +excitement, caused by the argument between the father and daughter of +the dead revolutionary. + +Then Mary turned to Gypo and addressed him. + +“If you were a friend of my brother,” she said, “you are quite welcome +here. Come into the parlour a minute. I want to talk to you.” + +Gypo started and looked at Mary with his tufted eyebrows twitching +ominously like snouts. But he said nothing. She was embarrassed by the +uncouth stare and flushed slightly. She coughed in her throat and put +her fingers to her lips. She began to talk rapidly, as if apologizing +to the uncouth giant for having had the temerity to address him a +request. + +“It’s because Frankie told us that he met you in the Dunboy Lodging +House before he came here. You are the only one he met in town before +he came in here, so I thought maybe that . . . you might be +able . . .” + +She stopped in confusion, amazed at the startling change that had come +over Gypo. He had become seized by some violent emotion as she spoke +until his face contorted as if he were gazing at some awe-inspiring +horror. Then she stopped. His face stood still gaping at her. Then for +some reason or other he jumped to his feet, shouting as he did so at +the top of his voice: “All right.” + +As he bent his head and the upper part of his body to jump to his +feet, his right trousers pocket was turned mouth to the ground. Four +silver coins fell to the cement floor with a rattling noise. These +coins were the change he had received in the public-house. + +He was petrified. Every muscle in his body stiffened. His head stood +still. His jaws set like the teeth of a bear trap that has been sprung +fruitlessly. Behind his eyes he felt the delicious cold and congealed +sensation of being about to fight a desperate and bloody battle. For +he was certain that the four white silver coins lying nakedly, ever so +nakedly, on the floor, were as indicative of his betrayal of his +comrade as a confession uttered aloud in a crowded market-place. + +Somebody stooped to pick up the coins. + +“Let them alone,” shouted Gypo. + +He swooped down to the floor and his right palm, spread flat, covered +the coins with the dull sound of a heavy dead fish falling on an iron +deck. + +“I only wanted to hand them to ye, Gypo,” panted the weazened +flour-mill worker who had stooped to pick them up. He had been knocked +to his knees by Gypo’s swoop. + +Gypo took no notice of the explanation. As he collected the coins in +his left fist and rose again, leaning on his right hand, he was +listening, waiting for the attack. + +But there was no attack. Everybody was amazed, mesmerized by the +curious movements of the irritated giant. They stared with open +mouths, all except Bartly Mulholland and Tommy Connor, who stood in +the background, looking curiously at one another with narrowed eyes. +Darting his eyes around the room Gypo caught sight of the two of them. +Spurred by some sudden impulse he held up his right hand over his +head, he stamped his right foot, he threw back his head and shouted, +looking straight upwards: + +“I swear before Almighty God that I warned him to keep away from the +house.” + +There was a dead silence for three seconds. Then a perceptible shudder +ran through the room. Everybody remembered with horror that there was +a suspicion abroad, a suspicion that an informer had betrayed Francis +Joseph McPhillip. Informer! A horror to be understood fully only by an +Irish mind. For an awful moment each one present suspected himself or +herself. Then each looked at his or her neighbour. Gradually rage took +the place of fear. But it had no direction. Even the most daring +gasped when their minds suggested, that possibly the great fierce +giant might have had . . . Impossible! + +“There’s no man suspects ye, Gypo. Ye needn’t be afraid of that,” +cried Tommy Connor, the huge red-faced docker with immense jaws like a +bullock, who had been whispering to Bartly Mulholland. + +He had spoken spontaneously with a queer note of anger in his voice. + +“Nobody suspects ye. Good God, man! . . .” + +There was a chorus of agreement. Everybody was eager to assent to the +statement that Connor had made. Somebody put his hand on Gypo’s +shoulder and began to say: “Sure it’s well known that . . .” + +But Gypo elbowed the man away fiercely and set out hurriedly across +the floor towards Mrs. McPhillip. He elbowed the people out of his way +without looking at them. He stood in front of Mrs. McPhillip. He +stared at her impassively for a few moments. Then he put his hand +slowly to his head and took off his hat. He felt moved by an +incontrollable impulse. All his actions had completed themselves +before his mind was aware of them. His mind was struggling along +aimlessly in pursuit of his actions, impotently deprecating them and +whispering warnings. But it was powerless. + +This impulse that had possession of him now was of the same origin as +the one that controlled him when he was looking into the shop window +thinking of his youth. + +He was beyond himself. His lips quivered. His throat got stuffed. He +swallowed his breath with an articulate sound, resembling a cry of +pain. He held out his left hand towards Mrs. McPhillip. He opened the +hand slowly. The four white silver coins lay there. + +“Take it,” he muttered. “Ye were good to me an’ I’m sorry for yer +trouble.” + +He felt a mad desire to pull out the roll of notes and give them to +her also, but the very thought of such a mad action made him shiver. +Instead he dropped the four coins into Mrs. McPhillip’s lap. + +Mrs. McPhillip glanced at the money and then burst into loud sobs. The +sound maddened Gypo. He turned about and rushed towards the door. He +stubbed his foot against the door-jamb and hurtled into the hall. He +rushed along the passage, cursing and striking furiously at everybody +that came in his way. He stood outside the street door and breathed +deeply. + +Two men rushed out after him. They were Bartly Mulholland and Tommy +Connor, the docker. + + + +CHAPTER V + +“Gypo!” + +Gypo had taken three steps down the street when his name came to him +through the darkness, uttered in that long-drawn-out whisper which is +the customary intonation among revolutionaries. He contracted his back +suddenly like an ass that has been struck with violence. Then he +halted. He did not turn about or reply. He waited. He listened with a +beating heart to the slow footsteps that came up to him from behind. +One, two, three, four . . . they stopped. Gypo looked to his left. +Bartly Mulholland was standing there. + +The two of them stood in front of a window through which lamp-light +was streaming, across Gypo’s chest on to Mulholland’s face. +Mulholland’s yellow face looked almost black in the lamp-light. It was +furrowed vertically from the temples to the jaws, with deep black +furrows. The mouth was large and open, fixed in a perpetual grin that +had absolutely no merriment in it, that fixed grin of sardonic +contempt that is nearly always seen on the faces of men who make a +business of concealing their thoughts. The nose was long and narrow. +The ears were large. The forehead was furrowed horizontally. The skin +on the forehead was very white in contrast to the dark skin on the +cheeks. The furrows on the forehead were very shallow and narrow, like +thin lines drawn with a sharp pencil. In fact, the whole appearance of +the face was that of an artificial face, such as that produced in the +dressing-room of an actor by means of paints, etc. This suggestion was +strengthened by the appearance of the hair that straggled in loose +wisps from beneath the shovel-shaped peak of the grey tweed cap. The +hair appeared to be a dirty brown wig, much the worse for wear. But +neither the hair nor any portion of the face was artificial. +Everything had come from the hand of Nature, which seemed, by some +peculiar whimsey, to have cast this individual for the rôle of a +conspirator. The face was the face of a clown to hide the +conspirator’s eyes, except from a very close scrutiny. The eyes were +the colour of sea water that is dirty with grey sand. These eyes are +sometimes described as watery blue, but it is a totally wrong +description. There was an indescribable coldness and depth in them +which it is beyond the power of any colour to describe. They stared +without a movement of the pupils or of the lashes at Gypo’s face, +expressing no emotion whatever. They were not doors of the soul like +ordinary eyes, but spy holes. They stared glassily like a cat’s eyes. + +This curious creature was dressed like a workman, in heavy hobnailed +boots, brown corduroy trousers with strings tied around the legs below +the knees, a black handkerchief tied in sailor fashion around his neck +and an old grey tweed coat that almost reached half-way down his +thighs. His hands were stuck deep down in the pockets of his coat. + +“Where’s yer hurry takin’ ye, Gypo?” he drawled in a low lazy voice, +as if he were half-drunk or lying on his back in a sunny place on a +hot summer’s day. + +“Who’s in a hurry?” growled Gypo. “How d’ye make out I’m in a hurry?” + +“Oh, nothin’ atall. Don’t get yer rag out, Gypo. Ye might talk to the +people. We never see ye atall now since ye left the Organization. Are +ye workin’?” + +“No,” snapped Gypo angrily. The short ejaculation coming from his +thick lips sounded like a solitary gunshot coming a long way over +still air. “I ain’t workin’ an’ all o’ you fellahs, that were supposed +to be comrades o’ mine, take damn good care to keep out o’ the way, +for fear I might ask ye for the price of a feed or a flop. Yer a quare +lot o’ Communists.” + +Mulholland drew himself in at the middle, emitted his breath, shrugged +his shoulders, thrust out his right foot and leaned his weight +backwards heavily on his left foot. Then he turned his head up +sideways to let the drizzling rain beat on the back of his neck +instead of on his face. The grin left his mouth and for a moment he +appeared to have become angry. + +“Ye don’t seem to be in any need o’ money to-night, Gypo,” he breathed +ever so gently. + +Then just as suddenly he broke into an almost fawning and ingratiating +smile. He continued in his ordinary lazy voice: + +“Don’t be tryin’ to make out yer broke, after me seein’ the money that +fell outa yer pocket in the kitchen beyond just now. Aren’t ye goin’ +to stand us a wet?” + +Gypo had begun to shiver. He shivered with minute movements, just as a +massive tree shivers, when the forest earth is shaken beneath it by a +heavy concussion. Then suddenly he recovered himself. Without pausing +to think, he shot out both hands simultaneously like piston-rods. +Mulholland gasped as the two huge hands closed about his throat. He +struck out helplessly with his own hands at Gypo’s body. His blows +were as ineffective as the flapping of a linnet’s wings against its +cage. Gypo’s face was lit with a demoniac pleasure as he raised +Mulholland’s body from the ground, clutching it by the throat with his +two hands. He raised it up like a book which he wanted to read, until +Mulholland’s eyes were level with his own. Then they both looked at +one another. + +Mulholland’s eyes were still cold and glassy, impenetrable and +absolutely without emotion. Gypo’s eyes were ferocious and eager, full +of a mad savage joy. His mouth had shut tight and the skin had run +taut over the glossy humps on his face, so that his face looked like +tanned pigskin. Mulholland’s tongue was hanging out. + +Then Gypo groaned and prepared to crush out Mulholland’s life between +his thick fingers, when he was disturbed by a shout from behind. He +dropped Mulholland to the street like a bag and whirled about. Tommy +Connor had rushed up from the doorway of No. 44 where he had been +waiting. He was standing now with his mouth wide open in astonishment +and terror. + +“What’s wrong, boys?” he cried. “In the name o’ God what are ye up +to?” + +“He suspects me,” cried Gypo, “and . . .” Then he sank into silence, +unable to say any more. His unsatisfied fury choked him. + +“Suspects ye of what?” cried Connor. “What d’ye say he suspects ye +of?” + +“I didn’t suspect him of anythin’ atall,” cried Mulholland, rising to +his feet slowly. His face was contorting with pain. “I only asked him +to——” + +“Yer a liar, ye did,” bellowed Gypo. “Ye suspect me, an’ well I know +ye, Bartly Mulholland. D’ye think I don’t know ye an’ all about ye? Ye +got a grudge agin me an’ Frankie McPhillip this long time. Don’t I +know yer Intelligence Officer for No. 3 Area an’ that yer nosin’ +around now——” + +“Shut up or I’ll plug ye where ye stand,” hissed Connor, ramming the +muzzle of his revolver into Gypo’s side. “Don’t ye know there are +people listenin’? D’ye want to let the dogs o’ the street know the +secrets o’ the Organization that ye swore on yer oath to kape?” He +panted and continued in a lower voice still: “Are ye mad or are ye +lookin’ to get plugged?” + +Gypo’s mouth remained open in the act of beginning a word, but he did +not utter the word. He half-turned his body in order to look into +Connor’s face. He saw it, big, angry, menacing, with the nostrils +distended, so that the insides, blackened with coal, were visible. The +face was within four inches of Gypo’s face. Connor’s revolver muzzle +was pressing into Gypo’s right armpit. Gypo feared neither the face +nor the revolver. He stared with wrinkled forehead at Connor, knowing +that he could crush him and Mulholland, both together, crush them to +death, to a shapeless pulp, by clasping them in his arms. + +But they were not merely two men, two human beings. They were +something more than that. They represented the Revolutionary +Organization. They were merely cogs in the wheel of that Organization. +That was what he feared, what rendered him powerless. He feared that +mysterious, intangible thing, that was all brain and no body. An +intelligence without a body. A thing that was full of plans, +implacable, reaching out everywhere invisibly, with invisible +tentacles like a supernatural monster. A thing that was like a +religion, mysterious, occult, devilish. + +Frankie McPhillip had once told him that they tracked a man to the +Argentine Republic, somewhere the other side of the world. Shot him +dead in a lodging-house at night too, without saying a word. What d’ye +think of that? + +“All right,” he said at last, “put away yer gat, Tommy. I’ll stay +quiet.” + +A few people had gathered on the far side of the street and were +looking on curiously. An immense crowd would have already gathered on +ordinary occasions, but there was tension and anxiety in the district +that night. Shooting might begin at any minute. It was always so. One +death brings another in its train. Each man thought this in his own +mind, although nobody breathed a word. It was a kind of silent terror. + +“Come on, boys,” said Connor, “let’s get away from here. We’re +gatherin’ a crowd.” + +“Come on down to Ryan’s,” whispered Mulholland to Gypo, in his usual +lazy, insinuating voice, as if nothing had happened, “Commandant +Gallagher is down there. He wants to see ye.” + +“What does he want with me?” growled Gypo. “I’m not a member o’ the +Organization any more. He’s got nothin’ to do with me. I’m not goin’.” + +“Come on, man,” whispered Connor, “don’t stand here chawin’. He’s not +goin’ t’ate ye. Come on. Is it afraid o’ the Commandant ye are? Why +so?” + +“I’m not afraid of any man that was ever pupped,” growled Gypo. “Come +on.” + +The three men walked off abreast, in step like soldiers, their feet +falling loudly on to the wet pavement, heels first. At the corner the +footfalls became confused. Gypo spat into the street. Mulholland +sneezed. They entered the public-house by a little narrow side door +that had a bright brass knob on it. They went along a narrow passage, +through a stained-glass swing door, into a brightly lit oblong room. + +A man was sitting by a little gas fire on a high three legged stool +facing the door. When Gypo saw the man he stopped dead. + +The man was Commandant Dan Gallagher. + + + +CHAPTER VI + +During the previous autumn a terrific sensation had been caused all +over Ireland by the farm-labourers’ strike in the M—— district. The +sensation was brought to a crisis by the murder of the Farmers’ Union +Secretary. For the first time it was discovered that the Revolutionary +Organization had spread its influence among the farm-labourers and +over the whole country. Something had been discovered. A Government +secret organization had overlapped the Communist organization and +there was a little effervescence, which was immediately suppressed by +the Government. Very little leaked out publicly. The newspapers were +forbidden to talk about it. The Conservative organs in Dublin had +timid editorials demanding that the Government should take the people +into its confidence. What really was the extent of this “conspiracy +against the national safety?” + +Then immediately Commandant Dan Gallagher became a public figure and a +general topic of conversation. He came out of obscurity in a night as +it were. People suddenly discovered that he was a power in the +country. He was photographed and interviewed and his photographs +appeared in all the newspapers both in this country and in England and +in America. He promptly denounced the murder as a “foul crime against +the honour of the working class and the whole revolutionary movement.” +He began to be feared intensely in official quarters as a “slippery +customer.” This phrase was used at a Government Cabinet meeting. + +Just about that time, the leading organ of the English aristocracy had +a two-column leading article on the subject of Commandant Dan +Gallagher. In the course of the article a short survey of Gallagher’s +life was given sarcastically. The following is an extract from the +article: + + “. . . This flower of Irish manhood grew on an obscure dunghill, in + the daily practice of all these virtues, which are indigenous to the + Irish soil, if one is to believe the flowery utterances of the + politicians on St. Patrick’s Day. His father was a small peasant + farmer in Kilkenny. Having assisted very probably in the gentle + assassination of a few of his landlord’s agents in the past, + reverently decided to devote the activities of his promising son to + the service of his God. But Daniel would have none of it. He was + meant for other fields of conquest. He succeeded in making himself + famous in the ecclesiastical seminary in which he was being prepared + for the priesthood, by smashing the skull of one of the Roman + priests during a dispute on the playground. The instrument used in + this display of boyish gaiety was the favourite Irish weapon, a + hurling stick. + + “The young Fionn McCumhaill was expelled and fled the country. He + drifted around for eight years without a trace of his whereabouts. + Very possibly he spent the time in the United States. We can well + imagine that he was favourably received among those organizations in + the United States which are governed by Irishmen intent on the + destruction of the British Empire by conspiracy, murder, slander, + and all the other delectable schemes that come to life so readily in + the Gaelic brain. We can imagine him perfecting himself in the arts + of gunmanship, deceit and those obscure forms of libidinous vice + which are said to be practiced by this morose type of revolutionary + in order to dull his sensibilities into an apathy which the + consciousness of even the most horrible enormities cannot + penetrate. . . . + + “At any rate he has returned to his beloved motherland endowed + liberally with those qualities which make him dear to the hearts of + all Irishmen of murderous inclinations. These latter unfortunately + form as yet a considerable portion of the population of Ireland. Mr. + Gallagher has a powerful and enthusiastic following. + + “His brand of Communism is of the type that appeals most to the + Irish nature. It is a mixture of Roman Catholicism, Nationalist + Republicanism and Bolshevism. Its chief rallying cries are: ‘Loot + and Murder.’” . . . + +The following is an extract from an article which appeared a little +while later in the columns of the official organ of the American +Revolutionary Organization: + + “When the glorious history of the struggle for proletarian + liberation in Ireland comes to be written, the name of Comrade Dan + Gallagher will stampede from cover to cover in one uninterrupted + blaze of glory. . . . No other living man has given nobler service + to the world revolution than this sturdy fighter, who rules the + workers of Dublin with greater power than is wielded by the Irish + bourgeoisie, who are still nominally in the saddle. The collapse of + the farm-workers’ strike need not dishearten those comrades who + expected great things from the hoisting of the red flag at M—— last + October. Comrade Gallagher has not seen fit as yet to call the Irish + bourgeois bluff. When the time arrives. . . .” + +In November a representative of the International Executive of the +Revolutionary Organization was sent over from the Continent to make a +special report on the situation in Ireland. The following is an +extract from a secret report drawn up by him, after spending three +months in Ireland secretly touring the country: + + “. . . For the moment it would be a tactical blunder to expel + Comrade Gallagher from the International. At the same time there can + be no doubt that the Irish Section has deviated entirely from the + principles of revolutionary Communism as laid down in the laws of + the International. Comrade Gallagher rules the national Organization + purely and simply as a dictator. There is a semblance of an + Executive Committee but only in name. The tactics are guided by + whatever whim is uppermost in Comrade Gallagher’s mind at the + moment. Contrary to the orders issued from Head-quarters, the + Organization is still purely military and has made hardly any + attempt to come into the open as a legal political party. This is + perhaps not entirely due to Comrade Gallagher’s fault. There are + local causes, arising out of the recent struggle for national + independence, which has left the working class in the grip of a + romantic love of conspiracy, a strong religious and + bourgeois-nationalist outlook on life and a hatred of constitutional + methods. This makes it difficult for the moment to check Comrade + Gallagher’s hold . . .” + + + +CHAPTER VII + +Gallagher’s eyes had opened wide when the three men came into the +room. Then they narrowed until they became thin slits under their long +black lashes. He nodded to Mulholland and Connor. Then he stared at +Gypo. + +Gypo returned the stare. The two men, unlike in their features and +bodies, were exactly alike in the impassivity of their stare. Gypo’s +face was like a solid and bulging granite rock, impregnable but +lacking that intelligence that is required by strength in order to be +able to conquer men. Gallagher’s face was less powerful physically, +but it was brimful of intelligence. The forehead was high and it +seemed to surround the face. The eyes were large and wide apart. The +nose was long and straight. The mouth was thin-lipped. The jaws were +firm but slender and refined like a woman’s jaws. The whole face had +absolutely no colour, but there was a constant movement in the cheeks, +as if tiny streams were coursing irregularly beneath the smooth glossy +skin. The hair was coal-black and cut close. The ears were large. The +neck opened out gradually from the base of the shoulders on either +side, like a hill disappearing into a plain. + +Then he jumped off his high stool and stood with his legs wide apart +in front of Gypo. He was five feet eleven inches and a half in height, +but Gypo towered over him with his extra two inches. Gallagher wore a +loose brown raincoat, from his throat almost to his ankles, that made +his well-built frame look larger and stouter. Yet Gypo, standing bare +in his dungarees that were now almost sodden with rain, looked immense +compared to him. Gallagher held his hands in his raincoat pockets +thrust in front of his body, as if he were pointing pistols at Gypo. +Gypo held his hands loosely by his sides, two vast red hands hanging +limply from whitish round wrists. Gallagher wore a broad-brimmed black +velour hat of a fashionable make. Gypo’s tattered little round hat was +still perched on his skull, like a tiny school cap on an overgrown +youngster. + +They looked at one another, the one, handsome, well dressed, confident +and indifferent; the other crude, ragged, amazed, anxious. + +“Well, Gypo,” drawled Gallagher, in the irritating, contemptuous tone +that he affected. “Ye don’t seem glad to see me.” + +“Can’t say that I am,” replied Gypo curtly, almost without moving his +lips. “I don’t see no reason to be glad to see ye, Commandant +Gallagher. Ye were never a friend o’ mine, an’ I ain’t in the habit o’ +crawlin’ on me belly to anybody that don’t like me. I’m not one o’ yer +pet lambs any more, so ye needn’t do any bleatin’ as far as I’m +concerned. One man is as good as another in this rotten ould world. +I’m usin’ yer own words, amn’t I?” + +Gallagher laughed out loud, a merry laugh that showed his white teeth. +He shrugged his shoulders and took a turn around the room. He took a +packet of cigarettes from his pocket as he walked and selected one. He +kept laughing until he paused to light the cigarette over near the +stained-glass window. + +“Yer a queer fish, Gypo,” he said, again laughing, as he paused to +throw the used match into a spittoon. + +Then he cast a glance all round the room and came back again to Gypo. +Mulholland and Connor watched him all the time with that loving +interest with which a crowd watches the movements of a champion boxer +who is walking around the ring in his dressing-gown, preparatory to a +big fight. They smiled when Gallagher laughed. They stopped smiling +when he stopped laughing. + +Gypo, on the other hand, watched Gallagher’s movements angrily. He +felt a desire to pounce on him and crush him to death before he could +do any harm. + +Then Gallagher came up to him and caught him by the right shoulder in +a friendly and confidential manner. + +“Listen Gypo,” he said. “You’ve got a grudge against me no doubt for +getting you expelled from the Organization, but you have nobody to +blame but yourself. I sent ye down, on the orders of the Executive +Committee, you and Frank McPhillip, to look after the defence work of +the strikers. What orders did I give the two of you? Can you remember? +Well, I’ll remind you. _To keep off the booze and not to use the lead +unless you were attacked._ But what did you do? The very first thing, +the two of you got hold of two women. That, of course, must have been +Frankie’s work because I don’t suppose you were ever a great magnet +among the women. Women were Frankie’s weak spot, damn it. But anyhow, +it doesn’t matter very much which of you started the hunt. You tasted +the honey as well as he did it, as far as was reported to me. The two +of you got drunk at M—— in company with these two women. You got so +mad drunk that McPhillip went to shoot up the town. You might have +assisted him in that pastime, but your time was occupied trying to +pull a lamp-post up by the roots in Oliver Plunket Street, for a bet +of a gallon of stout. In the very middle of your entertainment, +McPhillip met the secretary of the Farmers’ Union and shot him dead. +That made you get over your drunkenness damn quick, didn’t it? The two +of you bolted without making any attempt to cover your tracks. You ran +like two hares. You came into Dublin with a red herring of a story +about an attack and what not. It was a tall yarn. Well? D’ye know what +I’m going to tell you, Gypo?” + +He paused dramatically and looked Gypo closely in the eyes. Gypo never +moved a muscle in his face. He grunted interrogatively from somewhere +deep down in his chest. Gallagher continued very slowly: + +“I’m going to tell you this much, Gypo. Only for me, you wouldn’t have +got away with it as easily as you did that time. There were others who +wanted to give you this, for disobeying orders.” + +He moved his right hand suddenly beneath his raincoat, thrusting it +forward against Gypo’s lower ribs. Gypo felt the contact of a blunt +hard metal. He knew it was the muzzle of Gallagher’s Colt automatic +pistol, but Gypo took no notice of the pistol. He was not afraid of +the pistol. But he was afraid of Gallagher’s eyes into which he was +looking steadily. He didn’t like them. They were so cold and blue and +mysterious. Goodness knows what might be hidden behind them. His face +began an irregular chaotic movement. His jaws, cheek-bones, nose, +mouth and forehead convulsed in opposite directions, as if a draught +of wind had stolen in under the skin of his face and caused it to +undulate. Then the face set again. The neck swelled and the little +eyes bulged. + +“No use tryin’ yer tricks on me, Danny Gallagher,” he growled, +knocking the pistol muzzle away with a slight movement of his right +hand. Although the blow was slight, it caused Gallagher to reel +backwards two paces before he regained his balance. His face darkened +for a moment and then again he broke into a smile. Gypo continued in a +thunderous melancholy voice: “Gallagher, I got no use for you. Them’s +all lies ye were tellin’ just now about tryin’ to save me life when I +was before the Court of Inquiry last October. I know very well they +was. Yerrah, are ye goin’ to tell me that yer not the chief boss an’ +God knows what in the Organization? Who else has got any authority in +it except yersel’? Yah. I got no use for ye. Yer a liar. Yer no good. +An’ I’d be in my job yet in the police only for ye an’ yer soft talk. +It was you that got me outa me job with yer promises o’ the Lord knows +what. I declare to Almighty God that I done more for yer bloody +Organization than any other man in Ireland. I done things that no man +unhung could do. An’ ye went an’ threw me out on account of an ould +farmer gettin’ plugged. Me an’ McPhillip. What did we get for it? +Wha’ . . . ye rotten . . .” + +Gypo rambled off incoherently into a long string of blasphemous +curses, raising his voice as he did so. His arms were raised outwards +in a curve and his head was lowered, as if he were in the act of +performing a swimming exercise. He frothed at the mouth and glared +from one to the other of the three men, as if undecided which to +attack first. + +Then suddenly a little wooden panel in the wall to the right was +raised up and a pretty red head was pushed through. It was Kitty the +barmaid. + +“Lord save us,” she cried, putting her fingers to her lips as she +looked at Gypo. “Who is that fellah? What’s he doin’ here, Dan?” + +“That’s all right, Kitty,” said Gallagher with a light laugh; “he’s a +friend of mine. We are having a cursing competition.” + +And he laughed heartily as he walked to the spittoon with the stub of +his cigarette. + +Gypo turned around and looked at the terrified face of the barmaid. As +he looked at her beautiful face and her pretty soft hair that +shimmered in the artificial light, his head swam and his eyes went +watery. His anger left his body immediately so that it seemed to empty +and collapse. It had been rigid and like a tree. Now it became loose +and jointless. He stood with stooping head and wondering eyes, looking +at the barmaid. + +The barmaid, seeing the change she had effected by her presence in the +unruly giant, grew conceited. She smiled in a superior way and dabbed +at her hair. She looked around at the others with an air of: “D’ye all +see that now?” + +Then Gallagher came up to the aperture jauntily, took her two hands in +his and looked enticingly into her eyes. Her eyes winced for a moment +as if she had become suddenly afraid. Then she smiled softly, wearily, +like a woman passionately in love. Gallagher bent down his head and +whispered something in her ear. She burst into a loud laugh. Gallagher +smiled, listening to her. Then he suddenly sighed and rapped the +counter curtly. + +“Four glasses of Jameson’s quickly,” he said in a low sharp cold +voice. + +The barmaid stopped laughing as suddenly as if she had been stricken +by a pain. She pulled down the shutter, lisping as she did so: “Yes +Dan.” + +Gallagher came back to Gypo and put his hand again on Gypo’s shoulder. +Gypo had his two hands now in his trousers pockets. After his +unsuccessful outburst he felt tired. He wanted to go away somewhere +and lie down and sleep for days and days. His mind was in a maze. He +was very tired. As he looked at Gallagher he even felt a longing to +confide his secret to him. Gallagher’s eyes were so devilishly +attractive. They seemed to draw things out of Gypo towards themselves. +They would be able to form a plan and . . . + +Gypo had uttered one syllable of Gallagher’s name before he realized +the real identity of the man and the consequences of a confession to +him. The name died on his lips. Gallagher smiled. + +“Gypo, old boy,” he said in a friendly tone, “ye had better forget all +that’s past. We’ve got something on hand that’s as much your business +as ours. So we can act together on it. That’s why I sent Bartly +Mulholland into McPhillip’s house to look for ye. A pal of yours has +been done in by the police. D’ye hear? It looks like an informer’s +job. We have to get that informer. It’s really no business of the +Organization because Frank had ceased to be a member. He was only an +ordinary civilian criminal as far as we are concerned. But an informer +is an informer. He’s got to be wiped out like the first sign of a +plague as soon as he’s spotted. He’s a common enemy. He’s got to be +got, Gypo. And it’s up to you to give us a hand in tracking the +traitor that sent your pal to his death. Because . . .” + +At that moment the slide was drawn up again sharply and the barmaid +appeared at the aperture with four glasses of whisky on a tray. +Gallagher went to the aperture, paid for the whisky, handed glasses to +Connor and Mulholland, received his change, pinched the barmaid’s +cheek and made her scream, laughed, pulled down the shutter himself +and then advanced smiling to Gypo with a glass of whisky in each hand. +He held out one glass to Gypo. Gypo stared at it without making any +movement to take it or reject it. + +He had followed all Gallagher’s movements with the stupid and +suspicious wonder of a terrified wild animal that thinks some trick is +being played on it. Now he stared at the glass as if he suspected some +trick in that too. + +“Take it,” said Gallagher coldly. “Take it, man, if you’ve any sense. +It’s better to have me as a friend than as an enemy. If you are not +going to help us in this job . . . er . . . people might think . . . +er . . . that . . .” + +“Uh,” began Gypo with a shrug of his whole body. Then he stopped +panting. He went on, speaking at a very high pitch. “It’s not that +but . . . Look here . . . It’s how . . .” His voice suddenly deepened +into a hoarse shout, “It’s how I don’t know what I’m doin’.” + +He stopped. Gallagher glanced at Mulholland. Mulholland’s cat’s eyes +both winked inperceptibly. + +“I’ve been starvin’ here for the past six months,” continued Gypo, +suddenly breaking out into a torrent of words. He talked like a negro, +hollow, thunderous and melancholy. “I’ve been kicking about this town +an’ every one o’ you fellahs I met passed me by without a word as if I +never knew ye. I been over in the House there, livin’ from hand to +mouth on whatever I could bum from sailors and pimps and dockers. I +got no clothes. I got no money. I got nothin’. An’ then you come up +all of a sudden with yer soft talk. Well . . . uh . . . how is it +that . . .” + +He came to a stop once more with his chest heaving. He seemed to be +about to go into a rage once more, but suddenly Gallagher moved closer +to him and whispered gently and soothingly: + +“Look here, Gypo. I’m going to make a fair deal with you. I’ll admit +you have done a lot for the movement. You have paid the penalty during +the last six months for the dangerous position you placed the whole +Organization in last October. We’ll call that quits on one condition. +If you can give us a clue to the man that informed on Francis Joseph +McPhillip I’ll get ye taken back again into the Organization at yer +old job on Head-quarters Staff. Here. Take this drink.” + +Gypo’s hand shot out immediately. He grasped the glass and Gallagher’s +hand both together in his immense paw. The two men almost struggled +trying to disengage their hands. As soon as the glass was free Gypo +put it to his lips and drained it. Then he stalked slowly over to the +mantelpiece and placed the empty glass on it. With his back to his +companions he paused to wipe his mouth with his sleeve. + +He wanted time to compose himself. Gallagher’s proposal had taken him +so completely by surprise that he was beside himself. Since that +infernal moment when he kicked open the door of the police-station, +his whole life had been submerged in a pitch-black cloud that was +impenetrable and offered no escape. He had been alone, outcast, +encompassed by a universal horde of enemies. Now, suddenly, he was +offered a means of escape by the great Gallagher himself. Gallagher, +the great Gallagher, had made him an offer. He would get back again +into the Organization. Again people would be afraid of him. Again +clever men would be always at hand to make plans for him, to provide +him with money for doing daring things, to protect him, to praise his +recklessness, his strength and his . . . Mother of Mercy! What Luck! + +As he wiped his mouth on his sleeve at the counter an insane idea +struck him, such was his eagerness to qualify immediately for +readmission to the Organization. For a moment he contemplated the man +who had gone into the police-station as a being apart from himself. +Sound began to gurgle up his throat. It was an attempt on the part of +his present personality to speak and deliver information against that +dazed Gypo Nolan who had stumbled into the police-station. But the +sound froze in his throat, in a ball, hurting him as if his tonsils +had swollen suddenly. He realized that he himself was one with that +ponderous fellow, wearing a little tattered round hat, who had gone +into the police-station. It was only another artifice on the part of +something within him, his conscience maybe, to persuade him to make a +confession of his betrayal. + +That same impulse had confused him all the time that he was looking at +Mrs. McPhillip. + +And then, just as in the public-house, when he had been terrified by +Katie Fox, his mind had given birth to an insane plan about a sailor +in a tavern, so now also his mind conceived an amazing fabrication. It +entered his brain suddenly, like a thunder-storm, with noise and fury. +His face and eyes lit up. He opened his mouth. He walked over to +Gallagher quickly and spoke in a hissing whisper. + +“I’ll tell ye who informed,” he gasped. “It’s the Rat Mulligan. It’s +him as sure as Christ was crucified.” + +The three men gathered up close to him. They all looked behind them +suspiciously and then stared at him with narrowed eyes. There was a +moment of tense silence. Then each drew a deep breath. Connor slipped +his finger over the trigger of his revolver. + +“The Rat Mulligan!” exclaimed Gallagher at length. “How d’ye make that +out, Gypo?” + +“I’ll tell ye,” cried Gypo triumphantly. Then he paused again and +looked about him with furrowed brows dramatically. “I didn’t like to +say anythin’ mesel’ for reasons that everybody knows. A man can never +be sure of a thing like that. An’ God knows it’s a quare charge to +bring agin a man. But as ye put it the way ye put it, Commandant, +about him bein’ me pal an’ me duty to the Cause, well . . . Still! +Poor Mulligan!” + +“Oh, come on,” cried Gallagher twitching with excitement. “Get +finished with what you have to say. Make your statement, man.” + +But Gypo was not to be hurried. An amazing arrogance had taken +possession of him. He reached out towards the glass of whisky that +Gallagher still held untasted in his hand. + +“Gimme that, Commandant,” he said, “seein’ as yer not tastin’ it.” +Gallagher nervously handed him the drink. “Thanks. Here’s luck. Ah! +Good stuff that. Well. This is how it was. Just after Frankie left me +in the dining-room, I suddenly thought to mesel’ that I had better run +after him and try an’ head him off from goin’ home. I had been tryin’ +to make him clear out of town again an’ not go near Titt Street, but +the same cranky fellah that he always was wouldn’t listen to a word of +what I said. So that I said to mesel’, Lord have mercy on him, ‘Well, +me fine fellah, I’m not goin’ to get mesel’ into a fever, tryin’ to +keep ye outa harm’s way an’ get cursed upside down for doin’ so.’ Well +anyway, as soon as he had gone, I decided to follow him and give him a +last shout. I ran out into the hall an’ who do I see but the Rat +sneakin’ around the corner. I ran down the hall. There was the Rat at +the door with his hands in his overcoat pockets peerin’ up the lane. +Then he dived out into the street, I chased after him. I was just in +time to see Frankie turnin’ the corner into the road with the Rat +crawlin’ after him. It’s as clear as daylight. So it is. Lord have +mercy on the dead, if I had only thought of it at the time, Frankie +might have been alive at this minute instead o’ bein’ a frozen corpse. +Give us another drink, Commandant. Me throat is parched.” + +Without a word or a glance Gallagher walked up to the counter and +rapped at the aperture. Gypo did not even condescend to follow his +movements. His conceit was now boundless. He realized that he himself +was amazingly cunning. He even felt a contempt for Gallagher in his +mind. As for Mulholland and Connor . . . He glanced at them +appraisingly, as a man might glance at a useful pair of dogs. It was +the same kind of glance that Gallagher was in the habit of directing +towards everybody. + +Gallagher brought a fresh glass of whisky and handed it to him. He +took it without a word of thanks. He walked to the spittoon and +emptied his mouth into it. Then he swallowed the drink again at one +draught. He put the empty glass on the mantelpiece and coughed deeply. +He clasped his hands behind his back with a loud sound. He began to +balance himself backwards and forwards on his heels like a policeman. + +“How didn’t I think of it before?” he cried, looking thoughtfully at +the ceiling. + +He was completely immersed now in the contemplation of his own +cleverness. He did not notice the utter silence with which his story +had been received by Gallagher and the other two men. He was +contemplating with pleasure the old days, when he had a criminal in +his charge, in the cells, at the police-station. He used to stand for +a whole hour in the stillness of the night, baiting the prisoner, +terrorizing him with his eyes, with a sudden display of strength, with +a mad laugh, with silent staring. He was feeling that same sensation +now. Exhilarated by the whisky he had drunk and carried away by the +concentrated nerve strain of the past few hours, he imagined that he +had Gallagher and the other two men at his mercy, that he was a +policeman and that they were civilians who were asking a favour of +him, an illegal favour that put them in his power. It was just that +way in the old days, when he used to sell Gallagher little tit-bits of +information over a drink; little harmless, he thought, bits of +information, about head-quarters routine and the disposition of the +detective-force personnel. + +“Think of what before?” Gallagher remarked coldly. + +He spoke slowly and casually, looking at Gypo in a brooding way. + +“Why, I mean the grudge that the Rat had in for Frankie,” Gypo replied +confidentially and with an air of great importance. + +“What grudge are you referring to?” + +“Oh, it’s a long story,” said Gypo with a sigh, as he walked over to +the spittoon and spat into it. Then he hitched up his trousers. He +cleared his throat with a tremendous noise. It was very tantalizing. +“Stand us another drink, Commandant, before they close,” he cried +suddenly, with amazing nonchalance. + +“By the lumpin’ Moses!” ejaculated Gallagher. “You’re a cool customer, +Gypo. Ha, ha, ha! Well now! You’re worth another drink anyway.” + +He winked secretly at Mulholland and Connor as he walked over to the +aperture. Gypo called after him almost contemptuously. + +“Hurry up,” he said, as he looked at the clock with a scowling face, +“we only have another minute. It’s a minute to eleven.” + +Again four glasses of whisky were passed around. Gypo took his and +swallowed it at a draught. This time he took the glass from +Gallagher’s hand without asking for it. He swallowed that also at a +draught, as if he were going through a public exhibition of his +drinking powers. Mulholland and Connor swallowed their drinks +hurriedly, as if they were afraid that he was going to take theirs +too. He walked over to the mantelpiece and put the two empty glasses +on it. He looked at the five glasses he had emptied and smiled +broadly. He whacked his chest with a loud sound. + +“Come on now, comrade,” said Gallagher sharply, “out with your news. +No fooling.” + +“All right,” said Gypo, thrusting forward his huge head so that it +looked like a battering-ram, suddenly attached to his collar-bone. +“D’ye remember the Rat’s sister Susie? She used to be a member o’ the +Organization. She——” + +“All right,” snapped Gallagher angrily. “I remember her. What about +her? What has she got to do with it?” + +“Well, why wouldn’t she have a lot to do with it? She had a baby, +didn’t she? Didn’t she leave——” + +“What d’you know about her baby?” hissed Gallagher. He was deadly +pale. + +“Don’t get yer rag out, Commandant,” leered Gypo with a broad laugh. +He was slightly drunk and insolent. “Hit a sore spot, wha’? Well, I +don’t know anythin’ about that. Ye can set yer mind at rest. Frank +McPhillip was the father o’ that kid an’ he refused to marry her. I +remember me an’ him were at the back o’ Cassidy’s havin’ a pint one +night, when somebody came in an’ asked Frankie to step around the +corner a minute. He was gone a long time so I followed him, suspectin’ +that there might be a bit o’ foul play. But I found him an’ Susie +jawin’ away to beat the band. She was cryin’ an’ askin’ him to take +her away with him somewhere. O’ course he didn’t budge. Next day she +went to the ’Pool. Gone on Lime Street, as far as I can hear. Well! +You bet yer life that’s why the Rat did it. That’s why he informed.” + +Gallagher looked at Mulholland. Mulholland wrinkled his forehead and +shook his head slightly. Then he looked at Gypo curiously. Connor’s +mouth was wide open and there was a look of wonder in his eyes as he +gaped at Gypo. Gypo was tightening his trousers belt. + +“Well, Commandant,” he said, when he had finished, “Yer word holds +good about takin’ me back into the Organization?” + +“Steady on,” murmured Gallagher dreamily, staring at the ground. “We +have to verify your statement first. If your statement is true you’ll +get back all right.” Suddenly he looked up, smiling, with sparkling +eyes. He seized Gypo by the right hand and smiled into his face in a +friendly intimate way. “Listen. There’s a Court of Inquiry to-night at +half-past one. Be there. Mulholland will take you up there. You can +arrange to meet him somewhere. You can rely on me, comrade, to fix you +up again. You did good work before, comrade, and you’ll do good work +again for the liberation of your class.” + +Gypo gripped Gallagher’s hand and squeezed it eagerly. Then he clicked +his heels and saluted in a grandiose fashion. Then he turned to +Mulholland. + +“I’ll be at Biddy Burke’s place,” he whispered; “about one o’clock. +I’ll see ye there.” + +“Right ye are,” answered Mulholland. + +“Good night, boys,” cried Gypo in a loud hearty voice. + +Then he stalked out of the room, striking the floor with his heels +fiercely and clearing his throat. + +They all looked after him in silence for two seconds. Then somebody +called, “Time, gentlemen, time.” Gallagher started. + +“Well, I’ll be damned,” he cried, striking his left hand into his +right. + +“It’s him,” hissed Connor, rushing up to Gallagher with open mouth. + +“Shut up, you fool,” snapped Gallagher. + +“Listen, Commandant,” cried Mulholland excitedly; “it’s him. I’ll +swear it is, because——” + +“Damn you,” snarled Gallagher, “who is asking your opinion? Give me +your report. Quick, quick. Don’t make a song of it.” + +In short jerky statements, with rapid gestures, Mulholland described +all that had happened at No. 44 Titt Street, Gypo’s excitement, the +falling of the money to the floor, Gypo’s giving it to Mrs. McPhillip, +his rush from the house. Then suddenly he began in a whining voice to +recount all he had done since he had been mobilized at eight o’clock +on receipt of the news of Francis McPhillip’s death. But Gallagher cut +him short. + +“Cut that out,” he cried. “Did the police find any papers at No. 44? +No. Good. Was anything found on the body? You don’t know. Well, you +better find out to-morrow at the inquest. Now beat it. Keep at Gypo’s +heels like a pot of glue. Find out every damn thing you can. Bring him +along sharp to the Bogey Hole at one-thirty. Off.” + +Mulholland disappeared without a word. Gallagher turned to Connor. + +“You Connor. Mobilize six men of your section. Round up Mulligan. Get +him to the Bogey Hole. Get busy.” + +Connor mumbled something and disappeared. + +Gallagher remained staring at the ground, alone, lost in thought. +Drunken voices were singing in the next compartment. Feet were +shuffling. A droning voice cried constantly: “Time, please, gentlemen, +time.” + +Gallagher’s eyes distended dreamily. He sighed. + +“The least little rift,” he murmured to himself, “and everything is +burst open. Then it’s all up with me. I’ve got to stamp out this +damned informer whoever he is. It may be Gypo. It might be the Rat, +though that’s very doubtful. That’s of no consequence. What is of +consequence is the fact that there is an informer. . . . Good God! An +informer is the great danger. Every man’s hand is against me. It’s +only fear that protects me. I must make an example of this fellow.” + +His voice had gradually died out. Now silence reigned in the room +again. The room was hot and stifling, full of the smell of stale drink +and tobacco. He stared at the floor. + +A cockroach peered out of its hole, contemplated a blotch of drink +four inches away from its snout and then disappeared again. It would +come out later on and suck the blotch. + +The distance was full of sound as if many things were happening there. + +Then Gallagher raised his head with a start. He sighed and walked +rapidly over to the aperture. He tapped the panel with his knuckles. +It was raised up almost immediately. The pretty red head appeared. +Gallagher nodded. The red head disappeared again and the slide was +pulled down. Gallagher waited. After three seconds a little door to +the left was opened quietly and the barmaid stepped into the room, +shutting the door carefully behind her. She rushed immediately to +Gallagher and threw her arms around his neck. He kissed her lips +several times rapidly. Then he unwound her arms. + +“Got anything for me?” he asked. + +She nodded and took a piece of paper from within the breast of her +black dress. He stuck it within his raincoat. + +“Right,” he muttered dreamily. + +Then he kissed her again on the lips and patted her cheek. He took a +pace away, but she grabbed at him. She held him, looking beseechingly +into his face. + +“Have ye got nothin’ to say to me, Dan?” she whispered, almost +sobbing. + +“For goodness’ sake, Kitty, have sense,” he muttered savagely. “This +is no time for jig-acting.” He put a finger to his throat. “I’m up to +here in it. The whole Organization is in danger.” + +“O Lord! What is it, Dan? Tell me.” + +“An informer. See ye to-morrow. Let me go. Good night.” + +He kissed her on the forehead. Her arms loosened. He was gone. She +looked after him dejectedly. Then she shivered and gripped her +breasts. + +Gallagher walked up Titt Street. Here and there a workman recognized +him and saluted respectfully. He did not acknowledge the salutes. He +wheeled sharply in at the door of No. 44 and knocked. The door was +opened almost immediately by Mary McPhillip. She also started and put +her hand to her breast when she saw him. + +“Good evening, Mary,” he said gently, holding out his hand. “May I +come in? I want to speak to your mother.” + +“Yes,” said Mary excitedly; “mother is in the kitchen, but you had +better come into the parlour. Father is in the kitchen, too, and there +would surely be a row if he saw you.” + +“Oh, that’s all right,” said Gallagher. “Is there anybody else there?” + +“No, everybody else is gone.” + +“Who is that yer talkin’ to, Mary?” came Jack McPhillip’s voice from +the kitchen. + +“Nobody atall, father,” cried Mary. + +“Don’t I hear a man’s voice,” cried the father. “Who is he?” + +“Hist! It’s all right,” whispered Gallagher, pushing past her as she +tried to speak again. “He won’t bite me. It’s just me, Mr. McPhillip. +How are you? I’m very sorry to hear of your trouble.” + +The two of them met at the kitchen door. They stared at one another +for a moment. Then Gallagher made a movement to come forward and +McPhillip with a little start, moved backwards. He did not speak until +he was near the bed again. + +“Oh, it’s you, is it?” he said angrily. “An’ what brings you here at +this hour of the night?” + +Gallagher took no notice of him. He turned to Mrs. McPhillip who was +still in the same position by the fire, telling her rosary beads. + +“I am sorry to trouble you, Mrs. McPhillip,” he said gently and +respectfully, “in the middle of your . . . eh . . . but there’s a +question or two I have to ask you for the sake of him that’s dead. +Would you be kind enough to——” + +“And what right have you to ask a question or two?” cried McPhillip, +raging because Gallagher had refused even to talk to him. + +He was sitting on the bed now. He sat on the bed timidly, as if he +were in somebody else’s house. + +Gallagher turned to him slowly and looked at him fiercely in the eyes. + +“I have the right,” he said, “of a revolutionary to track a traitor to +the cause.” + +“Ha!” sneered McPhillip. “An’ what kind of a revolutionary d’ye call +yersel’?” + +“A revolutionary Communist,” answered Gallagher. + +Then he turned about insolently and bent down his head to talk to Mrs. +McPhillip. + +“Communist be damned,” cried McPhillip, jumping off the bed. “D’ye +know what I’m goin’ to tell ye? Ye——” + +“Father,” cried Mary, wringing her hands, “don’t——” + +“Shut up, you young rip,” stamped the father; “am I master in me own +house or am I not? You, ye Communist, as ye call yersel’! Yer the +greatest scoundrel in Ireland. Yer the greatest enemy o’ yer class. +Now, let me alone, Mary, or I’ll tan yer skin for ye. Let me tell +him. . . . Let me . . . Let go,” he screamed shrilly, as she seized +him tightly about the body and began to push him forcibly from the +room. + +He placed his hands and feet against the jambs of the door and turning +his head around, he continued in a half-hysterical voice: + +“It’s the likes o’ me that’s the revolutionaries, but we get no credit +for it. It’s the likes o’ me that does the hard work, eddicatin’ me +fellow-men, an’ at the same time strikin’ an honest blow for better +conditions. But men like you are criminals. Criminals, criminals, +that’s what yez are. Don’t lay hands on yer father, Mary. Don’t——” + +“I’m not touching you,” cried Mary. “Come on now. Get to bed.” + +She got him into the hall. He sighed and broke into half-stifled sobs. +Going up the stairs he kept saying in a low melancholy voice: + +“If I had only put him on the scaffoldin’ with me, instead of +eddicatin’ him, maybe he’d be alive an’ an honest man to-day. If I had +only . . .” + +Then his voice died away into a mumble as a door closed behind him +upstairs. + +When Mary returned to the kitchen after putting him to bed, she found +Gallagher sitting beside her mother, writing rapidly in a notebook. He +had taken off his hat. His close-cropped black head looked very +handsome to her. Still she shivered looking at it. The side face +looked very cruel, with the brooding expression on it, as he looked +downwards at the notebook. + +She stood watching him until he finished writing. Then he sighed. He +got up. He said a few words to Mrs. McPhillip. Then he shook hands +with her and turned to Mary. + +“I want to speak to you,” he said. + +She led him into the parlour excitedly. It was dark there and she had +to fumble around for matches to light the gas. She couldn’t find them. +Gallagher offered his box. He lit a match. She went to take it from +him. Their fingers touched. She started and stumbled over something. +The match fell from his fingers and went out. He reached out his hands +to catch her as she stumbled. He caught her by the wrists and held her +tightly. They had not spoken a word. It was very queer in the +darkness. Their faces were very close together, but they could not see +one another. They stood still, each of them mastered by some strange +impulse, that bound their tongues. They stood still, in the utter +darkness and silence of the little stuffed room, for almost a minute. +Then Gallagher spoke. He spoke in a soft whisper. The sound of his +voice was soft and caressing. His lips were so close to hers that his +breath came moist to her lips. There was a catch in his voice, as if +the volume of sound were not strong enough to steady itself on the +air. + +“Mary,” he said, “I want you to come to a Court of Inquiry with me +to-night.” + +She made no attempt to reply. Neither did he seem to expect a reply. +It seemed that the words and their implication were foreign to the +purpose of their meeting here. It seemed that the coursing of their +blood and the confused beating of their hearts, was in response to +some prearranged assignation of declared love. + +But there had never been a question of amorous relations between them. +They had never met in privacy like this before. Their previous +meetings were more in the nature of quarrels. Mary had always disputed +with Gallagher, particularly of late, when she had become violently +opposed to him. But now in the darkness, in the solitude, both she and +he were mastered by some amazing emotion that was inexplicable. + +“Dan,” she whispered suddenly, “you make me afraid. Why are we +standing here in the darkness? What do you want with me?” + +“I want you to revenge your brother,” said Gallagher suddenly, as if +he had obeyed an unforeseen impulse and broached an unexpected +subject, with which his mind had hitherto only toyed nervously. “I +want you to join me, Mary. I want you to take your brother’s place in +the Organization. But a greater place than he held. No. It’s not your +brother’s place I want you to take but . . .” + +“Dan, what are you talking about?” she panted in a terrified voice. + +There was a pause during which Gallagher imperceptibly moved his face +closer to hers. Their lips met. They kissed gently. Then she drew back +suddenly, shivering violently. She wanted to rush away and to shout, +but the fascination of his voice was upon her. His voice and the +glamour of his face. His face and the romance of his life. She was +bound suddenly by it. Suddenly too, it became apparent to her why she +had been eager to convert him. It had been in order to meet him, with +a plausible excuse. + +And she was almost engaged to Joseph Augustine Short, who was a +“gentleman,” who would place her in a respectable sphere of life, who +would free her for ever from the hated associations of her slum life +with its squalor, its revolutionary crises, its damnable insecurity, +its soul-devouring monotony. + +Mother of Mercy! Was she in love with Gallagher? Was she going to be +drawn into the web of his conspiracies by the deadly fascination of +his face and of his voice, by the romance of his life? + +“Mary,” he murmured at last, “you are the remainder of me. The two of +us together would make a complete whole. There would be nothing else +wanting to the two of us, no unfulfilled . . . er . . . well . . . +it’s not that either. I have not fully worked out that part of the +theory. I have approached it from another point of view.” + +“What is it, Dan?” She drew away her face farther and loosened one +hand. He was wrapped in dreams now and he did not attempt to stop her. +In fact he let her go altogether suddenly and sat on the table, simply +holding her right hand in his. “What do you want with me?” she said +again. + +“I want you to join me,” he muttered almost inaudibly, wrapped in his +thoughts. + +“Dan, I don’t understand,” she gasped, afraid of his voice. + +“How? How?” he muttered. “Why don’t you understand? I want you to join +me.” + +“Do you mean . . . to . . . to . . . to marry you?” + +“Oh rot,” he cried irritably, waking from his half-reverie and turning +towards her. “These ridiculous conventions don’t enter my +consciousness. Not only have I no respect for them, but they don’t +enter my consciousness. You understand the significance of that. My +personality is entirely in keeping with my mission in life. For me all +these words attain their true values. Marriage, for instance, is truly +a capitalist word meaning an arrangement for the protection of +property so that legitimate sons could inherit it. So I don’t have to +argue with it in my own mind in order to rid myself of a belief in it. +Most men have to do that. I am a hundred years before my time. I want +to destroy the idea of property. It is my mission. I don’t want to +leave property to my children. I don’t want children. They are nothing +to me. The perpetuation of my life is in my work, in men’s thoughts, +in the fulfillment of my mission. That’s why I want you to join me, +because I feel something, an affinity maybe—that’s a wrong word +though—between you and myself. I am sure there is a natural +relationship, chemical maybe, between the two of us. We are two parts +of one whole. I am sure of that. No, damn it all. What a ridiculous +idea! I don’t want you to join me for the purpose of cohabitation. I +have no time to make sentiment a main impulse of my desire to live. +Neither have you. I am certain of it. You are governed by other +impulses. Maybe you don’t know it. Probably you are afraid to analyse +yourself. But I know it. I don’t know it. I feel it. ‘Know’ is not a +proper word. It’s out of use. ‘Feel’ is better. It is an outcome of +the new consciousness that I am discovering. But I haven’t worked that +out fully yet. It’s only embryonic.” + +He paused. She started when he stopped. She had not been listening to +what he had been saying. She had been arguing with herself. She had +not succeeded in settling with her conscience what she had been +discussing when he stopped. She bit her lip and started. She was +blushing. + +“Tell me, Dan,” she whispered, “do you believe in anything? Do you +even believe in Communism? Do you feel pity for the working class?” + +Gallagher uttered an exclamation of contempt and shrugged his +shoulders. He panted as he spoke, such was the rapidity of his words, +in an effort to keep pace with the rapidity of his tempestuous +thoughts. + +“No,” he said, “I believe in nothing fundamentally. And I don’t feel +pity. Nothing fundamental that has consciousness capable of being +understood by a human being exists, so I don’t believe in anything, +since an intelligent person can only believe in something that is +fundamental. If I could believe in something fundamental, then the +whole superstructure of life would be capable of being comprehended by +me. Life would resolve itself into a period of intense contemplation. +Action would be impossible. There would be no inducement for action. +There would be some definite measurement for explaining everything. +Men seek only that which offers no explanation of itself. But wait a +minute. I haven’t worked out that fully yet. It’s only in the +theoretical stage yet. I have no time. + +“But you spoke of pity. Pity? Pity is a ridiculous sensation for a man +of my nature. We are incapable of it. A revolutionary is incapable of +feeling pity. Listen. The philosophy of a revolutionary is this. +Civilization is a process in the development of the human species. I +am an atom of the human species, groping in advance, impelled by a +force over which neither I nor the human species have any control. I +am impelled by the Universal Law to thrust forward the human species +from one phase of its development to another. I am at war with the +remainder of the species. I am a Christ beating them with rods. I have +no mercy. I have no pity. I have no beliefs. I am not master of +myself. I am an automaton. I am a revolutionary. And there is no +reward for me but the satisfaction of one lust, the lust for the +achievement of my mission, for power maybe, but I haven’t worked out +that yet. I am not certain that the lust for power is a true impulse, +a true . . . but listen. That can come later. Can you give me an +answer now? Will you join me?” + +“No . . . no, Dan. Stop. Listen.” She gasped, holding him back. “Not +now. Later on I’ll tell you. On a night like this, with death in the +house, how can you talk of . . . ?” + +“Why?” he uttered fiercely. “What night would be better suited for you +to join me? Don’t you want to avenge your brother’s death? Don’t you +want . . .” + +“Dan, Dan,” she gasped, struggling away as he attempted to seize her +in his arms, “don’t touch me or I’ll scream. I’m so excited.” + +There was a pause. Their breathing was loud in the silence. A noise +came from the kitchen. + +“That’s mother going to bed, Dan,” said Mary hurriedly. “You must go, +Dan.” + +“Will you come to the Court of Inquiry to-night?” + +“Dan, I’d rather——” + +“You must come, Mary. You must. You——” + +“All right, Dan, I’ll come.” + +“Good. I’ll come for you. Be ready at one o’clock.” + +“All right, I’ll be ready.” + +“Be waiting in the parlour here. I’ll knock on the window.” + +“All right, Dan. Go now immediately. I’m coming, mother. Good night.” + +He bent hurriedly and kissed her lips. Then he stumbled from the room. +She waited until the hall door closed behind him. Then she shuddered +as the barmaid had done. + +Gallagher walked away northwards furiously, with glittering eyes, +thinking. + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +Walking out from the public-house into the street, Gypo felt as if he +had leapt suddenly into an arena, where he was to perform astounding +feats, while an amazed audience, with two million eyes, gazed silent +and spell-bound. He thrust his head into the air. He let his arms hang +limply from his shoulders in front of his body. He took two staggering +steps forward and uttered a long-drawn-out yell. + +It was that peculiar yell that mountaineers will utter in the west of +Ireland, when the fair is over in the district town and night is +falling, as they issue from the public-houses, bareheaded and +wild-eyed, dragging their snorting and shivering mares after them by +the halter. + +Gypo’s yell was just such a one. It was like a challenge to mortal +combat issued to all and sundry. He felt beside himself with strength. +He was free again. Had not Gallagher given him his word that +everything would be all right? Would he not be taken back again into +the Organization? Had he not thrown suspicion on to the Rat Mulligan? +He was free again. Ye-a-a-aw! + +He staggered to the kerbstone and yelled, letting his body go +completely limp with ecstasy. Then, breathing heavily through his +nostrils, he stood erect and looked about him to see what effect his +yell had produced. There was a small crowd of people near by. They had +just come out of Ryan’s public-house and from Shaughnessy’s, another +public-house ten yards away at the corner of a lane. The corner was +brilliant with light, from the public-houses, from a fried-fish and +potato shop, and from a drapery shop where the lights were kept on all +night by the owner, with the idea that the light might terrify gunmen +and housebreakers. + +Gypo stood out in the blaze of light, on the kerbstone, with the beads +of rainwater on his white woollen muffler reflected like dewdrops in +the artificial light. The people looked at him in amazement and with +that intense satisfaction which the proletariat of the slums always +derives from something unexpected and extraordinary happening, at no +cost to themselves. A spectacle had presented itself. The crowd began +to swell. + +Gypo had not intended to carry the affair any further. In fact he had +not intended to yell at all. But when he saw the crowd he became +amused. He pitched on a man who stood near, a tall, thin, respectably +dressed man, who had a sour expression on his face. + +“What are ye lookin’ at me for?” cried Gypo, staring the fellow in the +face insolently. + +“I’m not lookin’ at ye,” snapped the man irritably. + +“Yer a liar,” bellowed Gypo, “don’t I see ye lookin’ at me?” + +“Well a cat can look at a king,” cried the stranger, thrusting out his +chin and spitting venomously to his left. + +“What are ye sayin’ about kings?” said Gypo angrily. + +“Better say nothin’ about kings around here, me lad. I think yer +lookin’ for trouble. I’ve got a good mind to give ye a wallop in the +jaw.” + +“Ye would, would ye?” cried the stranger, making a move to take his +hands out of his coat pockets. + +But he was too late. Gypo’s right hand swung around. The man went down +like a bag of nails dropped to an iron deck. Somebody cried: “Lord, +save us.” Gypo stood over the fallen man with his chest heaving. A +policeman appeared from somewhere in the rear. He advanced rapidly, +shouldering the people and trying to snatch something from under his +cape as he made for Gypo. + +“Look out, look out,” cried an old woman, through her cupped hands. + +Gypo looked on either side hurriedly and then he heard the excited +breathing of the policeman approaching from behind. He tried to turn +about, but the policeman was upon him. The policeman’s hands closed +about his biceps and jerked back both his arms to lock them behind his +back. The arms were half-way back before Gypo could mobilize his vast +strength to arrest their retreat. There was a loud snap of bones being +strained taut when Gypo’s strength collided with the policeman’s +strength at the point on Gypo’s biceps where the policeman’s hands +rested. + +Both men groaned loudly. The policeman’s boots tore at the wet +pavement, making a noise like dry cloth being rent, as he struggled to +keep firm. Slowly Gypo leaned forward until the policeman’s body was +on his back. + +Then he thrust back his head with a snarl. His poll collided with the +policeman’s chin. There was a dull thud and a snap. Gypo uttered an +oath and thrust his head downwards towards his knees, holding his +thighs rigid. Before the head had reached the knees, the policeman had +hurtled through the air with a scream of terror, right over Gypo’s +head. + +He fell with three separate soft sounds to the street, with his right +side against the concrete wall of a house. He fell on his back. He +rose again in the middle, resting on his right hand and on his heels. +He brandished his left hand towards Gypo and at the same time he tried +to grip a fleeing spectator with it. Then he moaned and subsided +again. + +“Run, Gypo,” said somebody. + +Gypo ran towards a lane at a fast run. He was followed by a crowd. +Others gathered around the fallen policeman. + +Gypo halted at the far end of the lane, in a dark corner. The crowd +gathered around him. Everybody was panting with excitement. They all +stared down the lane towards the blaze of light where the policeman +lay. They began to jabber. + +“I can see trouble comin’,” said one. “The sojers ’ll be here shortly. +Then yer goin’ to see some pluggin’.” + +“Gwan,” said another contemptuously. “There’s no sojers goin’ to come +down here. Ye wouldn’t get a sojer in the town to dare come within a +mile of Titt Street on this blessed night, after what happened +to-day.” + +At the mention of “what happened to-day,” a man cursed, a woman +crossed herself piously under her shawl, an angry silence fell. + +Gypo stood with his hands in his pockets, paying no heed to the talk. +With his lips stuck out, he was looking gloomily down the lane towards +the blaze of light. He was enjoying himself immensely. + +“Hist, hist!” somebody cried. “Look, look.” + +Two policemen crossed the blaze of light, bearing their fallen comrade +between them. A few women and small boys followed them. Then two more +policemen came, hauling along the man whom Gypo had struck. They were +dragging him unceremoniously, holding him by the armpits, with his +feet trailing along the ground and his arms dangling. They were +probably under the impression that it was he who had felled their +comrade. The man made an effort to wrench himself free, but they +tightened their hold on his arms. He writhed and went limp again, +allowing himself to be dragged lifelessly. A woman, with straggling +red hair and a child on her back in a black shawl, danced in front of +the policemen, screaming and gesticulating, demanding the man’s +release. Then the procession passed out of sight with a mad rush of +feet and a medley of indiscriminate noises. + +“Let’s go back,” muttered a young man who had a slight hump. + +Gypo grunted and hitched up his trousers. He put his hand to his head +to settle his hat jauntily before leading the way back. But instead he +uttered an oath. His little round torn hat was not there. His massive +round skull stood bare under the night. It stood naked, hummocked and +gashed here and there, like a badly shorn sheep. He traversed the +skull with his right palm, in little flurried rushes, as if he had had +a vague suspicion that the hat was hiding somewhere along the expanse +of skull. Then he set out at a wild rush down the lane, followed by +the crowd, to retrieve the hat, as if his life depended on it. For the +first time, since Gallagher had given his word, terror again invaded +his mind. If they discovered the hat they might be able to discover +the identity of that ponderous fellow who had gone into the +police-station. . . . + +But no. He rushed into the road and brought up with a slither of his +right foot on the wet pavement. The hat was lying in the gutter before +his eyes. It lay crushed beside a flattened little cardboard chocolate +box and an orange skin. It had been trodden on by a small bare foot. +The impress of a wet heel was on its right side. + +He grabbed it up hurriedly, punched it into shape and crammed it on to +his skull with both hands. Then he laughed aloud and turned to the +people. + +“I thought I had lost it,” he cried affectionately. “I had it this two +years.” + +The crowd gaped at the hat as if it had magical properties. Others who +had run up without knowing what had already happened gaped at Gypo’s +humpy face, at his ruminative eyes and his eyebrows that were like +snouts, at the red fat backs of his hands, as he held them to his +throat tightening the white woollen muffler about his neck. There were +agitated whispers on the outskirts of the ragged crowd. + +“He’s stronger than any bull.” + +“How? Why? What did he do?” from a dozen throats. + +“Wait till I tell ye. I saw him with me own eyes send Scrapper Moloney +o’ the B Division flyin’ over his shoulder like a man divin’ off the +Bull Wall. I declare to me——” + +“I know him well. He used to be a bobby himself once. His name is +Nolan. Gypo Nolan. Didn’t ye ever hear of him?” + +“Sure; usen’t he be pals with Frankie McPhillip that was shot to-day?” + +“Sure I was,” broke in Gypo, overhearing the remark; “an’ when ye +speak o’ the dead, ye might add Lord Have Mercy on him.” + +“Hear, hear,” cried several voices. “Hit him a puck in the jaw. Who is +he?” + +A noisy argument and a scuffle arose. The culprit was hustled away, +kicked and struck about the face, until he made his escape by running +at full speed up the lane. Then they all crowded around Gypo again. + +He stood head and shoulders above them, revelling in the attention he +was attracting. He stood so impassively with his arms folded, that he +might be mistaken for a great scowling statue at a distance. Then he +suddenly raised his right hand and made a circular movement with it. + +“Come on,” he cried wildly. “I’m goin’ to give everybody here a feed. +Come on. Come on every mother’s son in this crowd that’s hungry.” + +He waved his arm towards the fried-fish and chip shop and headed off +towards the door. + +“Hurrah!” + +“Long life to ye, me darlin’ son of Erin.” + +“More power to yer elbow.” + +“Up the rebels.” + +Gypo strode in front of the disreputable throng as proud as a king +leading his courtiers. They came after him with pattering feet, +panting, pushing, snivelling, emitting that variegated murmur of sound +that comes from a pack of wild things in a panic, coming from afar, +unseen, without a guiding reason. They were the riff-raff and the +jetsam of the slums, the most degraded types of those who dwell in the +crowded warrens on either bank of the Liffey. But to Gypo they were an +audience to acclaim his words and his deeds. + +“Before long ye’ll see me cock o’ the walk around here,” he thought, +as he strode into the shop. “Me an’ Gallagher. Come on, every man jack +an’ woman too. Come on.” + +They packed the little shop to the door. There was an overflow +outside. It was warm within after the drizzling rain and the sharp +wind outside. The air within the shop became almost immediately full +of the vapour of human breath. The low murmur of breathing could be +heard distinctly through the hum of whispered conversation. + +“Hey there, towny,” cried Gypo to the shopkeeper, “chuck us a feed for +all hands. I’m payin’ for the lot.” + +The shopkeeper was an Italian, a dark middle-aged fellow with +plaintive eyes. He looked at Gypo and then at the crowd. Curiosity, +fear, suspicion and surprise raced across his face. Then he smiled and +nodded his head. He said something in a foreign language to the girl +who stood behind him and then he began immediately to put steaming +portions of potatoes and fish into slips of old newspapers that lay +ready to hand. The girl, a red-cheeked young woman with big black +eyes, dressed in white, busied herself, pushing to and fro on a long +arrangement like a sink, more fish and potatoes that were being fried. +A crackling noise came from this frying. A hot, sweet and acrid smell +permeated the whole room. + +The starved wastrels revelled in that smell. They looked towards the +frying food with eager mouths and glistening eyes. Their nostrils +smelt its heat and its savour greedily. Their faces were all fierce +and emaciated. Their bodies were unkempt, crooked, weazened. But just +then, the joy of an unexpected banquet had filled even their haggard +and stupefied souls with a pleasure that made them laugh and chatter +irresponsibly like children. The sorrows and the miseries of life were +forgotten in that moment of common rejoicing. And perhaps that joyous +mumble of chattering voices, rising through the steam in that slum +eating-house, was a beautiful hymn of praise to the spirit of life. + +And Gypo stood among them like some primeval monster just risen from +the slime in which all things had their origin. + +While around him crowded the others, like insects upon which he had +been destined to fatten. + +As he looked about him, with the slow, languorous eye movement of a +resting bull, he felt the exaltation and conceit of a conqueror at the +hour of victory. An intelligent being, gifted with such strength and +the power to analyse his sensations, would have said: “This is the +greatest moment of my life.” But Gypo did not think. There was nothing +about him in relation to which he could think. A queen will not dream +of flaunting her beauty and her raiment at a boors’ banquet. But she +will, on a public holiday, bow to their clamorous cheers. So with +Gypo. + +The cumbersome mechanism of his mind had been put in motion that +evening by the necessity for forming a plan after leaving the +police-station. The unaccustomed strain had unmoored it. It floundered +about until Gallagher’s promise perched it on a foolish eminence +whence it regarded the rest of humanity with contempt. It sprawled its +ponderous foundations on that crazy eminence as arrogantly as if it +were about to rest there for eternity. + +He rolled his eyes about at the heads that were standing thickly +around him, some on a level with his biceps, some on a level with his +waist, while here and there a tall man like himself, stood with a red, +lean, knotted neck strained forward, with throbbing throat, towards +the food counter. + +“Biga lot o’ people,” murmured the Italian suddenly, making a polite +gesture with his hands to indicate the number of people present and +the nature of his suspicions. + +“That’s all right,” muttered Gypo. “Count ’em as ye hand out the grub. +I’ll pay. Don’t you fret yersel’. Keep back there.” + +He had been standing with his palms against the edge of the +marble-topped counter. Now, in order to put his hand into his right +trousers pocket, he had to pick up a small-sized man and crush him in +between two women, who leaned away behind their shawls. Then he thrust +his hand into his pocket and fingered the wad of Treasury notes. The +very touch of them sent a wave of remembrance through his body. A +slight tremor ran up, almost tangibly like a breath of cold wind in a +hot place, up the extent of his body until it entered his brain. The +remembrance of the origin of that wad of notes staggered him +momentarily. He remembered the fat white hand, surmounted by a +carefully brushed blue sleeve, that had handed him the wad over a +desk, saying ever so icily: “You’ll find twenty pounds there. Go.” + +But after the first shock he curled his thick upper lip slightly and +licked it with the tip of his tongue. The movement of his mouth had +the appearance of a grin. The girl who happened to glance at him just +then, found his gaze centred on her. She dropped the fish slice into +the pan with some sort of an exclamation in a foreign language. But +Gypo, though he was looking at her, did not see her. He was busy with +his clumsy thick fingers, separating a single note from the roll +without taking the roll from his pocket. At last he succeeded in doing +so. He grunted and pulled out a single Treasury note. + +He held it up. + +“Here ye are,” he cried. “This’ll pay for the lot. Hand out the grub.” + +The Italian smiled immediately and began to serve the packages into +the eager hands that reached out for them. He counted out loud as he +did so: “One, two, three, four . . .” + +An uproar commenced immediately. People crowded in from the door +struggling to get served. Those who had been served struggled to get +out into the street, with their food in steaming, dripping, paper +packages in their hands. Altercations arose. The shop was full of +sound. There were catcalls, whistling, cursing and laughing. Then a +big docker brought the uproar to a climax by smashing his big boot +through the wooden bottom of the counter, uttering a drunken yell as +he did so. Then he sprawled over the counter, laughing foolishly and +reaching out with his two hands towards the girl who shrank away +terrified. The Italian uttered an exclamation of terror. Gypo turned +towards the docker, lifted him up by the back and shouted: + +“Keep quiet.” + +The two words re-echoed through the shop, like two rocks rolled down +from opposite precipices and meeting in a glen, with two separate +sounds, a heavy thick sound as they collide, a loud rasping sound as +their splintered fragments fly clashing into the air. + +The words had scarcely passed out the door into the night before a +silence fell. Everybody stood still. One man stopped in the act of +sucking a fish-bone between his lips. + +“Now carry on,” continued Gypo, “but don’t kick up a row like a lot o’ +cannibals. Don’t disgrace yer country. A man ud think ye didn’t see a +bite for a year.” + +Then he himself turned towards the counter and asked the Italian how +many meals had been served. Twenty-four meals had been served. He +threw the pound note on the counter. + +“Take out o’ that for three rounds for mesel’,” he said. + +Then he pushed back his hat, drew a paper full of food towards him and +began to eat. Without speaking, the Italian held the Treasury note +between him and the electric light and peered at each side of it +several times. Then he nodded his head and opened his till. + +Mulholland had also strained his neck to peer at the Treasury note. He +had been standing in the angle of the doorway all the time, silent and +immovable. As soon as he saw the pound note, he drew out into the open +and craned over the heads of the people to look at it. A neighbour +noticed him, a ragged little fellow, who mistook the cause of +Mulholland’s curiosity. + +“Didn’t ye get any grub?” said the little man to Mulholland. “It’s yer +own fault if ye didn’t. Come on, man. Don’t stand there hungry. Go on +up to the counter.” + +He caught Mulholland by the arm and tried to push him towards the +counter. + +“Leave me alone,” hissed Mulholland. “I don’t want any grub. Let go.” + +“Go on up,” pursued the little fellow; “go on, man. Didn’t ye hear him +say he was standin’ a round for everybody. Go on up.” + +“Let go, I tell ye. Let go. I don’t want it, I say.” + +But it was no use for Mulholland to refuse. The more he refused the +more the little fellow was determined that he should be fed. Others +joined in, eager for some amazing reason or other that Mulholland +should be fed. It seemed that they suspected something indecent and +improper in Mulholland’s refusal to eat. + +“Call out,” cried somebody, “call out for another ration. Bring it +down to him.” + +“Yes, why shouldn’t he have his share as well as the next?” + +“Let me alone,” cried Mulholland in a rage; “let me alone, or I’ll +smash yer skull for ye.” + +That put a different aspect on the question. There were a dozen angry +oaths. + +“So that’s what’s the matter with ye. Yer lookin’ for fight, eh?” + +“Stand back an’ let me at him,” cried somebody in the rear, pressing +forward. + +Mulholland tried to rush for the door, but they held on to him. + +“What the hell is the matter now?” thundered Gypo, striding over. + +Immediately the scuffling stopped. Gypo came face to face with +Mulholland. He saw Mulholland’s little eyes, gleaming and flashing +like the eyes of a cat beset by dogs. There was a tense moment during +which Gypo struggled with obscure suspicions. But suddenly the +expression on Mulholland’s face changed into an expression of cunning +intimacy. His face instead of being fierce and resentful suddenly +seemed to say: “We are members of the Revolutionary Organization, you +and I. Get this rabble out of my way.” Gypo immediately remembered +Gallagher’s promise. He looked at Mulholland with a good-natured +condescension. “Ha,” he thought, “this fellah’ll be useful.” + +“Let him alone,” he cried arrogantly; “he’s a friend o’ mine. How are +ye gettin’ on, Bartly?” + +Then he continued carelessly, to impress the crowd with his own +importance and his intimacy with the affairs of the Revolutionary +Organization, which was the most impressive thing in the lives of +those about him. + +“Hear anythin’ yet about what I was tellin’ ye? I mean about the +fellah that informed on Frankie McPhillip?” + +Mulholland was amazed for a moment. What audacity! But it was not +audacity. Gypo had completely forgotten the ponderous fellow in the +little tattered round hat who had gone into the police-station. His +sudden conceit had completely swallowed that ponderous fellow. + +“He must be drunk,” thought Mulholland. He said aloud, whispering to +Gypo, as he bent his head close and turned up his face sideways in his +peculiar manner, “I was just passin’ an’ saw ye. I just thought I’d +drop in an’ tell ye I’d be there at one o’clock. Ye know where I mean? +No, we didn’t hear anythin’ yet about that.” + +He winked his right eye. Gypo winked his right eye and nodded +solemnly. Then Mulholland walked quickly out the door, evidently going +off somewhere in a hurry. But he halted at the corner of the lane, +distended his eyes and gritted his teeth. He rubbed his chin +meditatively, looking at the ground. He couldn’t make it out, whatever +it was, that was troubling his mind. + +Gypo turned once more to the counter and continued his meal. He ate as +if he were about to travel for days and he were deliberately devouring +a store of food sufficient to last to the end of the journey. Behind +him and on either side of him, they were talking about his strength +and praising him, but he paid no heed to them. He was immersed in +dreams about his future, now that Gallagher was going to take him back +again into the Organization. + +“Aha!” cried an old woman, with watery blue eyes and a wrinkled white +face, as she shook her fist upwards at him, “I wish I had a son like +ye. Me own Jimmy, Lord Have Mercy on him, was killed in the big war. +He was the boy that could bate the polis! Don’t be talkin’. I seen him +wan night an’ it took six o’ them to pull him off a coal cart an’ he +holdin’ on to the horse’s reins all the time with wan hand while he +was fightin’ them with th’ other.” + +She stamped on the floor and yelled, her eyes gleaming ferociously, as +if the contemplation of her dead son’s fight gave her tangible +pleasure. Then she walked towards the door, trailing her shawl and her +arms with bravado. The poor woman was slightly insane as the result of +paralysis. + +A tall, sour-faced, lean man, with a red nose shaped like a reversed +scimitar, who had just come in, looked after the old woman and shook +his head. He mumbled something under his breath. The old lady halted +and looked at him contemptuously. + +“What are ye sniggerin’ at,” she cried, “you with a face like a plate +o’ burnt porridge?” + +There was a loud laugh. + +“Mary Hynes,” said the hook-nosed man, “if ye were more careful of yer +son’s upbringin’ an’ of yer own immortal soul, ye wouldn’t be in the +state ye are in now. Is it boastin’ of yer son’s lawlessness ye are? +Are ye boastin’ of his livin’ crimes an’ he already gone to meet his +God?” + +The hook-nosed man raised his right hand dramatically to point at the +ceiling and he glared at the old woman with fierce and menacing +sorrow. But his words produced a contrary effect to that which he +expected on the old woman. She looked at him contemptuously and then +curled her mouth up in anger. + +“Yerrah, d’ye call it a crime to bate a policeman?” she cried in +amazed indignation. + +“Certainly it is a crime,” cried the hook-nosed man. + +“Damn an’ blast it, what are ye talkin’ about, Boxer Lydon?” cried a +burly fellow coming up to Lydon and staring him excitedly and angrily +in the face. “Didn’t ye hear of what the polis did to-day to Frankie +McPhillip? D’ye call it a crime to bate that murderin’ lot? Aye or +shoot them either!” + +“I don’t say they were justified in what they did to-day,” cried +Lydon, raising his voice to a querulous shout in order to drown the +uproar; “but neither will I say that the dead man was justified in +what he done. Do none o’ ye think o’ the man McPhillip killed? Wasn’t +he a fellow-man like yersel’? Wasn’t he an Irishman of the same flesh +an’ blood?” + +“Aw! that’s nationalism,” cried somebody. “What’s an Irishman no more +than a Turk? Ye belong to the I. R. B., an’ that’s where ye get yer +lingo. Up the workers!” + +The hook-nosed man paused with his hand raised until the interrupter +finished. Then he continued unmoved: + +“Do none o’ ye think that maybe that man left a mother an’ a——” + +But he had to stop. His voice was drowned in the uproar and the +scuffling. The old woman began to sing “Kelly the boy from Killane,” +as she strolled out the door. Another man was pushing his way in +through the crowd at the door towards the hook-nosed man. This +new-comer had been standing at the door for some time. He was dressed +from head to foot in a heavy black overcoat. He was better dressed +than everybody present, but he looked as pale and haggard as the +others. His face continually twitched and his eyes were bloodshot. He +looked at the hook-nosed man fiercely and seized him nervously by the +buttonhole. The hook-nosed man edged away. + +“For God’s sake, let up on that rubbish,” cried the new-comer, +stammering at each word. His upper lip was contorting as if he were in +a fit. + +“Let me go,” cried the hook-nosed man. “I’ll have my say, an’ I won’t +be intimidated by any Socialist agitator. Keep back from me.” + +“I only wanted to tell ye,” shouted the other, “I only wanted to tell +ye . . . I say . . . I say . . .” + +Then nothing could be distinguished above the uproar. Everybody +present took part in the argument. The ragged fellows who had come in +with Gypo, curiously enough, took no interest in the argument. Those +of them that had not already disappeared as soon as they got their +food, now took their leave when the argument began. There was even a +look of fear in their faces as they slunk away, as if this +demonstration of interest in the affairs of the world terrified them, +who had no interest in anything, since their souls were numbed by the +hopelessness of despair. Only a few of the most wretched remained, +crouching against the counter, in the comforting shadow of Gypo’s +immensity. They remained because the presence of his powerful +personality comforted them and gave them the imaginary feeling of +having something to protect them from the menace of civilized life. + +Those that were now taking part in the argument were of a better +class. They were workers of all sorts, members of trade unions and +respectable people. They had appeared somehow, one by one but rapidly, +in that mysterious way in which crowds of people of a certain type +gather in the Titt Street district and carry on an argument with +furious heat. + +Gypo suddenly turned around and looked at the wrangling group, at the +open mouths, the listening ears, the distorted faces, the glittering +eyes. He listened. He blinked. Then he laughed softly within himself. +He felt a crazy desire to yell and fall on them with his fists. The +mixed murmur of their agitated voices had a maddening effect on him. +But he looked back at the counter. He still had food to eat. He +continued his meal. The argument went on. + +The man with the long overcoat who had just arrived held the attention +of the crowd. He was a well-known man in the district and all over the +city. He owned a small tobacconist and newsvendor’s shop. He was +called The Crank Shanahan and indeed he was a crank. He belonged to no +organization, he went about alone, he attended every political meeting +in the city and he was continually, in all weathers, agitating and +preaching in a loud shrill voice his own peculiar philosophy of social +life. That philosophy was a mixture of all sorts of political creeds, +but its main basis was revolt against every existing institution, +habit or belief. He was called an anarchist, but he was not an +anarchist. He was just a fanatic who was dissatisfied with life. At +night he was given to fearfully morbid thoughts that caused him to +lock and bar himself in his room and sleep with the blankets right +over his head. He was even supposed to put cotton-wool into his ears +at night lest he might hear a sound. And once the policeman on duty +found him wandering around the street in which he lived, at three +o’clock in the morning, dressed in a torn nightshirt, trembling and +gnashing his teeth with terror. He had jumped up horrified by a +nightmare and rushed out in that state. + +“Listen,” he cried. “I don’t agree with the Revolutionary +Organization, but the man that killed McPhillip . . . no . . . no, +no . . . I mean the man . . . can’t ye let me speak? . . . I mean the +farmer that McPhillip killed, he was an agent of the capitalist class. +Then it follows logically that he was an enemy of the working class. +McPhillip was an agent of the working class. He was justified in +killing the man. That’s the matter treated logically and brought to a +logical conclusion. Everything must be approached logically. Listen. +Taking the question from a wider standpoint we can get a broader +judgment that will fit all cases of the kind that may arise”—he raised +his voice to a scream to drown the noise of a scuffle at the door—“in +the near future. We are at the base of a world revolutionary wave. +According as that wave advances and gathers strength the whole process +of capitalist society will crumble up. Then there will be a gradual +increase in the number of these skirmishes, as it were on the . . .” + +His voice was drowned suddenly by a big man who began to swing his +arms about his head uttering a fearful torrent of oaths. He was drunk. +Then Lydon shouted: + +“Murder is murder, I say. Murder is always murder and the gospel of +Our Lord Jesus Christ says——” + +“There must be no mercy,” yelled a little man with a black moustache, +who rushed into a corner where he had room to prance about. “There +must be no mercy. To hell with everybody. That right, boys? Wha’?” + +“What are ye talkin’ about?” cried Gypo, suddenly turning about. + +Silence fell immediately. Everybody looked at him. His face was +perspiring. He rubbed his hands on his chest. He curled up his lips. +He gave his little hat a slight push towards the back of his head. + +Then he was seized by another fit of strange humour. He yelled once +more and staggered towards the crowd, with his arms hanging loose, +pretending to be dead drunk. They fell away from him in amazement. He +stood in the middle of the room and looked about him. + +“What ye talkin’ about?” he drawled ponderously, swaying backwards and +forwards. + +He glared from face to face, but each pair of eyes was turned away as +he sought them. He was delighted with the terror he caused. Behind the +counter the Italian, still smiling, had grasped a large knife and +stood perfectly still. The girl was crouching on the floor. Then Gypo +broke into a loud laugh, stuck his hands in his trousers pockets and +strolled towards the door. + +He hesitated for a moment outside the door. Then he headed straight +across the road. They all ran to the door to look after him. His huge +long frame, clad in blue dungarees that clung to his thighs, shone in +the light of the lamps as he crossed the wide road, one foot advancing +past the other slowly, the trousers brushing with the sound of hay +being cut with a scythe. Then the figure left the area of light and +grew dim as he gained the pavement at the far side, and turned to the +left under the shadow of an abrupt tall house. Then he fell away into +the night. + +Presently a lean slouching figure crept across the street in pursuit. +He also disappeared under the shadow of the abrupt house. Nobody +noticed him. It was Mulholland tracking Gypo. + + + +CHAPTER IX + +Around the corner Gypo halted. He put his hand against the wall behind +him and stood motionless, with his head turned back, listening. He had +heard a step following him. But the steps halted also. He listened for +several seconds breathlessly and heard nothing further. Then he +snorted and turned his head slowly to his front. He looked ahead into +the darkness, dreamily. He stood perfectly still. + +Then his face broke slowly into a sort of smile and his eyes grew dim. +He trembled slightly. He glanced about him sharply and furtively +several times. There was a strange, almost mysterious “significance” +in his movements, slight, sudden, furtive movements. + +Then he stared steadily down along the dark, narrow street that +stretched ahead of him, ending at the far end in a high wall, with a +dim lamp at one corner suggesting that another street branched off it +to the left. He winked his right eye at the lamp and a roguish +expression creased his face as he did so. + +“Why not,” he muttered aloud. “Why shouldn’t I go an’ have a bit o’ +fun? Wha’? A few bob on the women an’ a few drinks to keep me supper +warm.” + +A wave of passion surged through his body. He was on the point of +opening his mouth to utter a yell, but instead he thrust his hand into +his trousers pocket anxiously and groped for his wad of money. He +found it. He sighed easily. + +“They might have pinched it,” he muttered with a look of gravity in +his little eyes. “That mob around there are a lot o’ wasters. Ye +couldn’t trust yer shirt with ’em on a winter’s night. They’d take the +charley from under a pope’s bed. Terrible lot o’ criminals around +lately.” + +Then his face lit up with eagerness as his mind swerved back again to +the contemplation of that lamp at the far end . . . and where that +street led. He swallowed his breath with a loud noise and set out +towards the lamp. + +Almost immediately a head peered around the corner behind him. The +head watched until Gypo turned to the left at the far end past the +lamp. Then a man darted around the corner and raced down the street in +pursuit. It was Mulholland tracking Gypo. + +When Gypo turned to the left past the lamp he came into a narrow +street in which there were no houses. On the right-hand side there was +a high wall, like a barrack wall. It enclosed a big goods yard +belonging to a manufactory, where mineral waters or something of that +kind were made. On the other side of the street there was no wall at +all. The foundations of houses still remained. Here and there, a +doorway, a chimney stack, or the brick framework of a window, stood up +in a ghastly fashion. Beyond that there was an open space full of +refuse, mounds of earth, bricks, pots, old clothes. The street itself +was a network of puddles. In order to avoid wetting himself to the +knees, Gypo had to walk along the sloping bank of clay where the +houses had crumbled. + +It was a dreary sight. It almost shouted its experiences, and if it +had shouted, it would have talked in that endless, loud, babbling +scream in which maniacs and demented creatures utter their words. It +was alive in that peculiar way in which ruins are alive at night, when +the earth is covered with darkness and the living sleep. + +But Gypo was not sensitive. For him, the street, with its dirt and its +squalor, was a savage sauce to whet his appetite for the riotous feast +of . . . He strode rapidly. He jumped from mound to mound, now +slipping with a curse, now catching a loose brick in some piece of +wall to steady himself. Now and again he heard a “hist” from the +opposite wall of the street, where some woman, old and decrepit, +sought the darkness so that her ravaged figure might escape the +drunken eyes of some passionate fellow seeking a fool’s pleasure. +These noises, croaks uttered by damned souls, sounds so tremendously +horrid to the innocent mind, made no impression on Gypo. To him they +were merely noises, expressions of everyday life. + +Once he recognized one of the women who took a pace forward from her +position and put a wrinkled hand to her brow to look at him. + +“Ho! Blast yer sowl, Maggie Casey,” he muttered, “aren’t ye dead yet?” + +He chuckled with laughter as he heard her blasphemous rejoinder. + +As he approached the far end of the street the silence lessened. He +heard whisperings and murmurs, snatches of distant song, sounds of +footfalls, strains of music. These sounds acted on him like +battle-cries. He almost broke into a run as he came gradually nearer +to the volume of sound. At last he dashed under an old archway and he +was in the next street. The medley of sound was all about him. On his +left-hand side stretched the long, low streets of brothels, entwined +like webwork among the ruins of what was once a resort of the nobility +of eighteenth-century Dublin. + +He was in a narrow street of two-storied houses, low houses with green +venetian blinds on the windows of some of them, their street doors +opened wide, lights in all the front, ground-floor windows. But the +street itself was in darkness on account of the drizzling rain. An odd +woman flitted along. A few men walked about uncertainly. The street +had a gloomy deserted look. But from the houses a medley of joyous +sound issued. + +Gypo looked on for a moment excitedly. Then he walked down the street +slowly, examining each house as he passed. He knew Katie Fox was by +now at Biddy Burke’s. He wanted to avoid Biddy Burke’s. Biddy Burke’s +house was over on the other side. He didn’t want to go there to-night. +It was only a poor place, used by revolutionaries and criminals of the +working-class type. The women there were an ugly, ill-dressed, +whisky-drinking lot. He was well known there. He knew all the women. +There was only Guinness’s stout on sale and even that was so diluted +and ghastly that it was like drinking castor oil. The more a man drank +of it the thirstier he became. A shilling a drink for poison like +that! + +Yah! Away with Biddy Burke and Katie Fox and Sligo Cissie and the rest +of them! To-night he wanted to go somewhere where he was not known. He +wanted to go among beautiful women. Strange, beautiful women clothed +in silk! Mad women! Women with dark, flashing eyes and sharp, white +teeth! Huh! He wanted to go mad. It was a mad night. There was fire in +his blood. His hands wanted to rip mountains. He would swallow +tankards of drink. He would drain this vast reservoir of strength from +his body. He must or he would burst. Already he felt a desire to beat +his head against walls. + +For six months he had been walking about a beggar, cut off from +pleasure, subject to Katie Fox’s charity. Phew! She was no longer +attractive to him, that bag of bones who thought of nothing but dope. + +Suddenly, without thinking, breathing heavily, flushed, excited like a +man inhaling chloroform, he staggered through a doorway. He stood in a +long, dark hall. He could hear laughter and drunken singing coming +from his right, a few yards down the hall, from behind a door through +which a glint of light came. He strode to the door. He tried to lift +the latch and walk in, but the door was bolted. Almost instantly the +sounds ceased. He kicked at the bottom of the door with his boot +several times. + +“Who’s that?” came a woman’s voice angrily. + +“Open the door an’ find out,” answered Gypo in a shout. + +“Wait a minute, Betty,” came a husky man’s voice; “lemme out.” + +There was shuffling and whispering. + +“Keep well behind it,” said somebody else. + +Then the bolt was withdrawn. The latch was lifted carefully. The door +opened slowly about three inches. Gypo watched these proceedings +nervously and angrily. + +“Come on, come on,” he cried at last, “what’s all this monkey trickin’ +about? Why don’t ye open the door wide and take yer mug outa the way?” + +The man suddenly slipped outside the door like a cat. With his back to +the door and his right hand bulging in his coat pocket he faced Gypo. +He was a stocky, bulgy fellow, with a criminal face. He had rushed out +with the intention of giving Gypo a thrashing with the “blackjack” +that was concealed on his person, but when he saw the kind of customer +with whom he had to deal his jaw dropped. Gypo gazed at the fellow +angrily. + +“So you’re the pimp,” he gurgled ferociously. + +He took a little hurried breath, shot out his right hand and seized +the pimp by the throat. The pimp gasped. His right hand dropped the +“blackjack.” He reached up with his two hands to grip the giant hand +that held his throat. + +“Lemme go,” he screamed. + +But Gypo contemptuously hurled him away from the door and sent him +sprawling along the hall into the darkness. Then he sent the door +flying open with a push of his shoulder and strode blinking into the +room. + +The room was crowded with people. It was very large. It had a stone +floor and a wide, open hearth where an immense turf fire was blazing +in a huge grate, with steaming kettles on either side, on the hobs. +There was a dresser loaded with shining Delftware of all colours. The +ceiling was high and white-washed. The walls were covered with +pictures of women, in amorous postures and in the varying degrees of +nakedness that might be expected to arouse libidinous desires in the +minds of all types of men. Everything in the room was spotlessly +clean, but the air was warm and heavy, due to the rather intense heat +of the fire and the combined odour of perfume and of alcohol. + +This heavy, languorous odour exalted Gypo. He rolled his eyes round +the room, drawing in a deep breath through his expanded nostrils. +Everybody was looking at him. There were eight men present, three +students from the University, an artist, a doctor and three young +gentleman farmers, up from the country “on a tear.” They had hired the +brothel for the night and ordered the proprietress to admit nobody; +but they did not take umbrage at Gypo’s appearance. They were just at +that moment in the delicious stage of intoxication when the most +strange incidents become normal and welcome, to minds that are cloyed +with alcohol fumes and the contemplation of bodily pleasures. The +scuffle outside the door and the manner of Gypo’s entrance made no +impression on them. His appearance, huge, towering, in a suit of +dungarees, with his little round hat perched on his massive skull, +intrigued them with a feeling that this was some new kind of pleasure +provided for their entertainment. They looked at him, half laughing, +half serious, with that dim and distant look in their eyes that comes +with the initial stages of drunkenness. + +The women, on the other hand, looked at Gypo with disfavour. There +were ten of them present. Some of them were almost nude and in various +stages of intoxication, sitting on the men’s knees, with glasses in +their hands and cigarettes in their mouths. Others sat solemnly on +their chairs dressed for the street, as if they had just dropped in on +their way somewhere. Their hard faces set in a scowl when they saw +Gypo. He was dressed like a workman. Therefore he had no money. +Therefore they scowled at him. This was an “upper-class” brothel. All +the women here were “ladies.” Their “class” instincts were aroused by +his wretched clothes and his uncouth features. + +One woman alone took no notice of him whatsoever. She sat in a corner, +reading a newspaper, with her legs crossed, a cigarette between her +lips, a fashionable short fur coat wrapped around her. Gypo’s eyes +wandered around the room until they rested on her. There they +remained. + +“What d’ye want?” cried a harsh voice behind him. + +Gypo turned. The proprietress of the brothel was standing beside the +door. Her left hand was on her breast fingering a little silver +crucifix that was suspended from her neck by a black velvet cord. Her +right hand rested on the door, a short, white, fat hand, as if she +were waiting until Gypo went out so as to shut the door again. She was +a small, fat woman of middle age, with a huge head of devilishly black +hair, arranged in towering fashion, with a glittering black comb stuck +in the rear of the pile. Her hair was the last remains of her beauty. +The remainder of her head had been coarsened by the odious nature of +her pursuits. Her face was blotched, wrinkled and pale. Her eyes were +yellow, hard, sunken and bloodshot. Her mouth was drawn together as if +some clumsy fellow had tried to stitch the lips and made a bad job of +it. She was dressed in a blue skirt and a white blouse. The blouse +sleeves were rolled almost up to her shoulders showing a tremendously +fat pair of arms. They called her Aunt Betty and she was known all +over the district for her cunning, her meanness and the peculiar habit +she had, perhaps in the middle of a conversation, of suddenly uttering +a coarse expression, grasping her breasts and staring about her +wild-eyed, as if she were afraid of some dread spectre being in +pursuit of her. + +Gypo did not know her, because her place was fashionable, frequented +only by well-to-do people, business men, army officers and students +who had money to spend. Gypo only knew the cheaper brothels, places +that were used as “friendly houses” by revolutionaries, criminals and +working men. On any other night he would never think of entering the +place, no more than a man in overalls would think of taking a seat in +the stalls of a London theatre. But to-night he had transcended +himself. He looked at Aunt Betty arrogantly with his lower lip +hanging. + +“I want a drink,” he replied gruffly, in a low voice. Then he added +after a pause with a sudden hoarse chuckle, “an’ anythin’ else that’s +goin’.” + +“Ye can’t get a drink here,” said Aunt Betty. “You better be going +somewhere else. You’re wasting your time here, my good man.” + +Aunt Betty spoke in a state of great excitement. This was habitual +with her, owing to the terrific strain it caused her to try to effect +the correct pronunciation of her words and “the educated accent of a +woman of good family.” For she always tried to speak like a lady. + +Gypo took no notice of her, or of the pimp who had again entered the +room and now stood against the wall, with his terror-stricken eyes +gleaming and his face livid with malice. + +“Here,” he cried, “give everybody a drink. I’m callin’ a drink for the +house.” + +He thrust his hand into his pocket, pulled out the roll of notes and +separated one, which he held out to Aunt Betty. It was like the +performance of a miracle. Aunt Betty’s eyes sparkled. She advanced +almost unconsciously, laughing with her thin, hard lips, while her +eyes gleamed with avarice. Her fingers almost trembled as she took the +note slowly. Feverishly, she examined it under the light. Gypo laughed +as she did so and gave her a loud, hearty smack on the back, with +horrid familiarity. She merely nudged him playfully in response. The +note was genuine and had passed her scrutiny. She sighed and cracked +her fingers towards the pimp. + +“Glasses all round,” she said. + +There was a little thrill of applause from the throats of the women as +soon as they saw that his money was genuine. Some of those who were +sitting alone, dressed for the street, got up and approached him, +uttering laughing endearments. Even the women who were already +engaged, sitting on the knees of the men, slightly tipsy, sobered up +and became contemplative and sulkily jealous of those women who were +free to capture Gypo and his wad of Treasury notes. + +The men, on the other hand, now regarded him with hostility, jealous +of the attraction he held for the women. + +Only one person in the room took absolutely no notice of the whole +proceedings. That was the woman in the fur coat, who sat in the corner +to the right of the fire, reading the newspaper. + +And Gypo, disregarding the soft, naked arms that attempted to embrace +him and the amorous, sensuous faces, that were turned up to his on all +sides and the soft, seductive, sibilant whispers that were uttered at +him, kept his eyes towards the indifferent woman in the corner +fixedly. + +“Keep out of me way,” he muttered. + +He pushed the girls away from him, strode over to the corner and stood +beside the mysterious one. He stood over her, breathing heavily, +looking down at her. She glanced at his knees from under her eyelids. +Then she puffed at her cigarette, flicked something off her sleeve +with her thumb and forefinger and went on reading her newspaper. The +other women looked on silently with narrowed eyes. The men began to +smile. Everybody was interested in what the fur-coated woman would do. + +Gypo sat down beside her. He sat on the floor with his back to the +wall. + +“Aren’t ye hot wearin’ that fur coat?” he said. + +She did not reply. There was a titter from the women. + +“What’s all the news in the paper about?” continued Gypo. + +The woman did not reply. One of the men burst into laughter, making a +sound like an explosion, as if his mouth had been full of laughter a +long time and it suddenly burst out. + +“Horrid man! Go ’way,” said somebody else, mimicking the voice of a +timid and refined woman. + +Gypo’s face darkened and his throat veins swelled ominously. But just +then the drinks arrived. He jumped to his feet and rushed over to the +pimp who was carrying them. He drained one glass of whisky, then +another, then another. An outcry arose. + +“Hey, don’t drink the lot.” + +“Savage.” + +“What d’ye mean by callin’ a drink for us an’ then swallowin’ ’em all +yoursel’?” + +“Hey! Stop him, Johnny. Take the tray away from him.” + +“You all go to the divil,” gasped Gypo. The whisky rushing down his +throat had taken his breath away. “Wait there. There’s lots more.” + +He pulled out another pound note and tossed it to Aunt Betty +carelessly. + +“There ye are,” he cried, “go an’ get more drinks.” + +Then amid the delighted yells of the girls he drained three more +glasses one after the other, each one at a gulp, while the women +danced around him. + +Suddenly the whole company went into a state of mad excitement. Human +beings always respond in that way to the mysterious influence of a +fresh and dominant personality, who, with a word, a gesture, a shout, +turns a solemn and bored gathering into an almost Bacchanalian party. +It seemed that all the people in the room had only awaited the arrival +of Gypo to abandon themselves completely to an orgy of mad behaviour. +Shouts, shrieks, smacking kisses, laughter, mingled chaotically in the +warm air of the room. Each of the men vied with his neighbours in an +exaggerated attempt to make a fool of himself. A young man with an +innocent, red face and beautiful grey eyes, a student, stood up +precariously in front of the fire, laughing incontinently and began to +strip himself naked. Another man, a big fellow, seized a girl in his +arms, tumbled with her to the floor and lay there shouting and trying +to kiss her, while she struggled to free her loosened hair from +beneath his shoulder. Gypo picked up two women and perched them one on +each shoulder. Then he seized two others round the waist, raised them +from the ground under his arms and began to jump into the air, yelling +like a bull with each jump, while his fluttering, half-naked cargo of +women laughed hysterically as they dangled about him. + +This amazing scene lasted fully a quarter of an hour and then ended +suddenly. Everybody seemed to be exhausted. It was only then that Aunt +Betty’s voice was heard above the uproar. + +“Do ye want to get me run in be the police?” she cried. + +“It’s all right, mother,” said Gypo, going up to her and putting his +arm around her waist. “Yer a nice girl. I’ll keep order here for ye. +Now who is kickin’ up a row? The next fellah that speaks above a +whisper I’ll open his skull for him.” + +“Would you, though?” cried the young man who was stripping himself +naked. He stood in front of the fire in his trousers and underwear +with his shirt in his hand. “I’ll teach you manners, my good fellow,” +he continued, pulling up his trousers and brandishing his shirt. “Come +on. I’ll teach you how to behave yourself in the presence of +gentlemen.” + +But somebody pulled him on to a settee before he could do anything. +Gypo looked at him for a moment and then he laughed. His eyes were +gleaming. The quantity of whisky he had drunk was coursing through his +head and his limbs as if it were being pumped methodically by a +machine. He released Aunt Betty and took a pace towards the centre of +the floor. Then he shivered all over and gasped for breath. He broke +into a laugh. He walked over to the fur-coated woman without looking +in her direction. He stooped down, put his arms about her, lifted her +up until her face was level with his and he kissed her. His clumsy +lips met her right cheek. They groped about for her mouth, but they +could not reach it on account of her frantic efforts to free herself. +He lost his balance and let her down to the floor. He regained his +balance, laughing heavily and wiping his mouth on his sleeve. + +There was an intense silence. The woman stood in front of him erect +and trembling. She held her hands rigid by her sides, with the long, +slender fingers bent backwards. She was dressed in excellent taste, +black shoes, navy-blue skirt, short fur coat, small, black hat, from +under whose brim brown curls protruded. She was a handsome woman, a +beautiful woman, but for her face. The left side of her face was +disfigured in a ghastly way from the temple to the jaw. So that one +cheek was white and the other almost black. The left eye was darkened +and almost sightless, while the right eye was blue, clear and gleaming +with anger. The disfigurement touched the corner of her mouth. The +remainder of the mouth was red-lipped, arched and beautiful. + +Suddenly, she bared her white teeth and spat at Gypo with the ferocity +of a wild animal. + +He shivered. His hands clawed up. His face contorted and he swivelled +his head on his neck from left to right and back again, like a ram +that is going to charge an enemy. A woman near the fire gasped with +horror. But Gypo did not attack. Instead of advancing on the woman he +took a pace to his rear and let his breath out through his nostrils +with a great noise. Then he stood motionless, with his eyes distended, +staring at the infuriated woman in awe and wonder. She was staring at +him with her eyes almost closed. + +“You pig,” she gasped. + +There was a painful silence. Each person in the room felt sure that a +catastrophe was imminent. The fact that the room, a few minutes +before, had been full of the sound of libidinous revelry made the +silence all the more terrible. Everybody watched Gypo. His huge body, +monstrous with strange movement, stood under the glare of the lamp +that hung from the ceiling. His face, staring steadily at the woman, +changed again and again, in response to the dark and mysterious +suggestions that chased one another through his mind. At one moment +his chest would heave and his limbs would stiffen. Then his breath +would come out with a snap. His jaws would set. His eyes would expand. +A movement would begin in his throat. Then a sound like a curtailed +snort would come from his nostrils. + +At last, after waiting for twenty seconds, the spectators were +startled by the unexpected outcome of these movements. Gypo broke into +a roar of laughter. He raised his head and laughed at the ceiling. +Everybody gaped at him in fright. All gaped at him, terrified, except +the woman. As if in response to his laughter, laughter broke from her +lips too, but it was the shrill, thin laughter of hysteria, that made +her eyes glitter coldly. + +Breaking off in the middle of his laugh, Gypo strode over to Aunt +Betty. He took her by the arm, pointed his finger at the woman in the +fur coat and whispered hoarsely: + +“I want her. Get me a room. I want to take her upstairs. Ye can have +whatever money ye ask.” + +“Never,” shrieked the woman in the fur coat. + +She put her hands to her face. Then she took a tiny step forward with +her right foot and stood leaning on the foot, trembling as if she had +planted it on ice. + +“None of this nonsense, Phyllis,” said Aunt Betty, coming forward to +the centre of the room. She faced the fur-coated woman with her arms +akimbo and her jaws squared. “I’m fed up with your swagger. You’re no +better than yer board and lodging, an’ as long as I keep you, you’re +no better than any other woman that takes bite and sup in my house. +Put that in your pipe and smoke it. One man is as good as another. +You’re going with him.” + +“That’s true, Aunt Betty,” cried several women, looking with hatred at +the fur-coated woman. + +“Rabble,” shrieked the fur-coated woman, stamping her feet and shaking +her fists all round her at the women. “What filthy souls you have to +be reduced to this level. I’m not a prostitute like you and that’s why +you hate me. You hate me because I’m an educated woman and——” + +“It’s nothin’ o’ the kind,” cried a big, large-boned, red-faced, +strong, handsome woman, called Connemara Maggie. “We hate ye because +yer a stuck-up, ignorant thing, that thinks she’s better than what God +turned her into; an’ God forgive me for sayin’ so——” + +“More power to ye, Maggie,” interrupted several, “tell her yer mind.” + +“I don’t mind what you say, Connemara Maggie,” gasped the fur-coated +one. “You’re not the worst of them and——” + +“Good God,” shouted Aunt Betty, suddenly putting her hands to her +breasts. + +She backed to the wall, staring furtively at the fur-coated woman. She +was in the power of one of her “visions.” Gypo stared at the woman in +the fur coat with his arms hanging loosely by his sides. + +“Listen,” continued the woman, “I don’t bear any of you any malice. +You can’t help it, any of you. I don’t bear even you any malice, Aunt +Betty. I know very well that were it not for you I would starve +or . . . or be in a worse place. I have been in your house a month now +and you’ve been kind to me. I know very well nobody can help anything. +I’m English, an army officer’s wife, so it’s only natural that you +girls would be prejudiced against me——” + +“It’s nothing o’ the kind,” cried Connemara Maggie; “it’s yer stuck-up +ways that——” + +“Let her have her say, Maggie,” cried another. + +“I had no right to come in here,” cried the woman, bursting into +tears. “I should have gone to the police and got them——” + +“The police!” yelled Gypo suddenly, starting as if he had been +awakened from his sleep. “None o’ that talk. Keep away from the +police. What d’ye want the police for?” + +“I want to get back home,” sobbed the woman. + +“Where’s yer home?” + +“It’s . . . it’s near London.” + +“Well, what are ye doin’ over here then?” + +“I got this,” cried the woman, becoming hysterical again. She put a +trembling hand to her disfigured cheek. “I got this a year ago. It’s +driven me mad. My husband took another woman. I sold everything I had +and came over to Dublin. I wanted to go to work. Honest to God, I did. +But I could get nothing. Then a man brought me down here. Good God, +the shame of telling you all this in a place like this . . . +the . . .” + +“D’ye want to go home now?” cried Gypo angrily. + +She did not reply, but looked at him with large eyes, as if in +amazement. + +“What’ll bring ye home?” he continued. “How much will it cost?” + +“A little over two pounds,” she replied in a low voice. + +“Here,” he cried, taking out his money, “here’s yer fare. One, two, +three,” he paused and was going to add a fourth, but he put it back. +He handed her the three notes. She shrank backwards, looking at the +money with large eyes. + +“Don’t be afraid,” he said in a strange, dreamy voice. “Take the money +an’ get outa here. That’s enough to take ye home. Go back home. Yer +not wanted here. You an’ yer husband and the police. Ye better keep +away from the police, I’m tellin’ ye. Go on. Beat it. Get outa here.” + +Staring him in the face, trembling, with her mouth open, she seized +the notes suddenly. Then uttering an exclamation, she looked about her +once and rushed to the door. + +“Go off now,” cried Gypo after her. “Go off now.” + +Everybody stared at the door through which she disappeared, banging it +after her. There was silence. Then Aunt Betty spoke: + +“That’s all very well,” she sniggered; “but she owes me two pound ten. +Who’s goin’ to pay me that? It’s all very well doin’ the——” + +“Shut up yer gob,” cried Gypo, “here’s two pound for ye. That’s +enough. Not another word outa ye.” He threw two pound notes at her. +Then he threw out his arms. “Who’s comin’ to bed with me,” he cried, +“before the bank is broke?” + +“I am, me bould son o’ gosha,” cried Connemara Maggie, rushing to him, +with her yellow curly hair streaming about her face and her blue eyes +dancing. + +She enveloped his neck with her brawny arms. + + + +CHAPTER X + +At fifteen minutes to one, Bartly Mulholland entered Biddy Burke’s +kitchen and sat by the fire. Nobody addressed him. He saluted nobody. +Biddy Burke was sitting on the other side of the fire, on a stool, +smoking a cigarette. + +Biddy Burke was a middle-aged woman with a lowering expression in her +black eyes, with puffed-out, sallow cheeks and a swollen throat. She +was of the type of Irishwoman that is prone to sudden passions, due to +the habit of eating enormous meals and then suffering from digestive +disorders. They are tender-hearted people, utterly lacking in an +æsthetic sense, violent, quarrelsome, savage, generous, inconsistent. +Biddy was dressed in a white blouse and a blue skirt. She wore her +greyish hair drawn back to her poll tightly and parted in the middle +according to the peasant fashion. + +There were other people in the room, two young women who sat on chairs +and Jimmy “the fancy man,” who lay on his right side, on the settle +opposite the fire. + +Mulholland looked around the room slowly. Then he spoke. + +“Was Gypo Nolan here this evenin’, Mrs. Burke?” he said. + +Biddy Burke slowly shook her head, carefully examining Mulholland’s +face as she did so. Then, as if she suddenly remembered something +important, she leaned forward and bunched her lips together. + +“There hasn’t a man stood within me door this blessed night,” she said +in her rough, croaky voice. “No, nor damn the bottle o’ stout did I +sell. That’s the God’s truth. Some people find Biddy Burke all right +when they’re in trouble an’ they got nothin’, but when their tune +changes they give her a wide berth. I’ll soon be in the workhouse at +the rate things are goin’. I never saw anythin’ like it. The country +is goin’ to the wall. That’s all there’s to it. I knew they’d make a +mess of it with their revolutions an’ their shootin’ the peelers. Not +that I didn’t do me bit to help the boys, God bless ’em, but ’tisn’t +the boys that done the fightin’ that get the jobs. So it isn’t. It +never is, if ye ask Biddy Burke. It’s them publicans an’ bishops that +were always top dog in this country. ’Twas that way before an’ ’tis +that way now an’ ’twill be that way when Biddy Burke is goin’ to meet +her God on the day of judgment. They were talkin’ about English +tyrants, but sure nobody ever saw the likes o’ these tyrants with +their searches an’ their raids, an’ every divil’s wart of a farmer’s +son that can pull on his breeches without his mother’s help, runnin’ +around an’ callin’ himself a gineral. Aw! Gypo Nolan! He’s like the +rest o’ them, Bartly Mulholland. You take it from Biddy. Indeed then, +he hasn’t set a foot within me door. It’s not that I haven’t heard of +his goin’s on though. Huh!” + +“What did ye hear about him?” asked Mulholland, peering at her. + +“What did I hear about him?” cried Biddy Burke. “What d’ye take me +for, Bartly Mulholland? An information bureau or what? Don’t be +botherin’ me.” + +Mulholland sighed. Then he took out his pipe and lit it. He put his +back against the wall and began to smoke in apparent comfort. There +was silence. Through the open street door sounds of footsteps and of +voices came in through the rain now and again. They were subdued +sounds. It seemed that everything was waiting for something monstrous +to happen. + +The two young women began in their gruff, cracked voices to discuss +the death of Francis Joseph McPhillip. They talked casually, in +whispers, indifferently. + +Mulholland peered at them for a moment. Then he sank back into his +thoughts. His thoughts just then were not at all comfortable. He had +lost track of Gypo. He had been wandering about trying to find his +quarry again, absolutely without success. Gypo had been swallowed up. +A more nervous man than Mulholland would have not taken the matter so +philosophically, so coolly. Because if Gypo could not be found again, +Mulholland’s own life would be in serious danger. But Mulholland was +not considering that aspect of the affair. Mulholland was a sincere +revolutionist. It was the danger to the “cause” that worried him. The +“cause” was his whole existence. He did not understand any other +purpose in life except the achievement of an Irish Workers’ Republic. + +Still . . . as he sat on the stool, stoically smoking his pipe, other +worries came into his mind. If he could not find Gypo and anything +serious happened to himself as a result, what would become of his wife +and his six young children? He hardly ever thought of them seriously, +in this way, with a view to the future. The future held a workers’ +republic, somewhere in the distance, when there would be no slums, no +hunger, no sick wives, no children that got the mumps and the rickets +and the German measles and the whooping-cough with devilish +regularity. It never worried him to think that his wife and his six +children were for the moment living in a miserable slum shanty, with +his wife going rapidly into a decline through hard work. That had to +be. The “cause” was above all these things. Why! It was his wife who +often urged him on to give all his time to the “cause” whenever he +became slightly despondent or disheartened, timorous or apathetic. + +Ever struggling without reward! + +So he thought suddenly. But almost as soon as the thought entered his +brain another thought came in mad, bloodshot pursuit. He pulled +savagely at his pipe and ejected the first thought in terror. + +Even “mentally” it was dangerous to think of leaving the Organization +without being expelled. After all . . . terror was the foundation of +his zeal. + +He forced himself into his habitual calm. His face assumed the +impenetrable aspect which he had developed during five years of +constant practice. He turned to Biddy Burke again. + +“Where did ye say ye saw Gypo carrying on?” he said casually. + +Biddy Burke looked at him ferociously, emitting two columns of +cigarette smoke through her fat nostrils. + +“I didn’t say I saw him carryin’ on anywhere, Bartly Mulholland,” she +said angrily. “Be the holy! These late years every one o’ ye is as +smart as a corporation lawyer. Now look here, Bartly. I don’t want to +have any truck atall with ye or yer crowd. Ye know that too. I know +ye, me fine bucko, an’ I don’t think . . . eh . . . well o’ course, +Bartly . . . ye know what I mane. . . . It’s not . . . uh . . . that I +mane any harm . . . but a poor woman like mesel’ . . . o’ course I’m +ready as I said before to do me duty for me fellow-men . . . but it’s +like this . . . what does a woman like me gain be gettin’ mixed up in +politics . . . that is o’ course . . . look here,” she continued in a +lower voice, “I heard he was up in Aunt Betty’s, raisin’ hell up +there. He was one o’ your crowd, wasn’t he?” + +Mulholland looked at her sombrely. She drew back immediately. + +“Well, ye know me well, Bartly,” she muttered apologetically and +nervously. “I’m not sayin’ anythin’ out o’ place. Am I, girls? Sure——” + +Just then an interruption came from outside. Footsteps came rushing to +the door. Then gasps were heard. Then a panting sound became audible. +Then Katie Fox burst into the room, with her right hand on her hip, +her eyes glittering, looking about her wildly. She rushed up to Biddy +Burke. She bent down from the hips towards her and began to speak +immediately, gasping after each word. + +“What d’ye think of it, Biddy?” she cried. “D’ye know where I found +him? D’ye know where I found him? The big hulkin’ waster! An’ she +that’s not fit to walk the same street as me with her big, ugly arms +around his neck! She laughed in me face. She laughed”—screaming—“in me +face! I wish to God I had hit her with the bottle I threw. That ud +spoil her mug. Though it was spoiled enough the day she was born. Who +was she, may I ask? Who was she, Biddy Burke? I’m askin’ ye. Ye don’t +know an’ ye’d never guess in a thousand years. Who would she be but me +bould Connemara Maggie! That imperent trapster that came up here last +year as a skivvy in a Gaelic Leaguer’s house, one o’ them crazy +fellahs that goes around in kilts. She came up here an’ before she was +three months in town she was put in the family way be a soldier. Then +she comes down here, with her curly locks an’ her big face like a +heifer, savin’ the comparison. I pushed up past Aunt Betty in the hall +an’ she shoutin’ after me. I bust into the room an’ there he was, +sittin’ on the floor, with his legs spread out, drinkin’ outa the neck +of a bottle, laughin’ like a fool, with her sittin’ beside him. +‘Hello, Katie,’ says he, ‘d’ye want a drink?’ ‘’Twill do ye good,’ +says she with a giggle. Me curse on her! I gave him a bit o’ me mind +an’ . . . Biddy, for God’s sake, gimme a drink o’ water. Biddy, +listen.” + +She threw herself suddenly at Biddy’s feet and began to moan. But +almost immediately she jumped to her feet again and cried out: + +“An’ what’s more he gave three quid to that swank of an Englishwoman. +He gave her three quid and he paid two quid more to Aunt Betty, money +that was owin’ to her for board, an’ he never gave me a penny. Me that +kept him for the last six months when I hadn’t a bite mesel’. But I’ll +tell everybody. I’ll tell.” + +She looked around her wildly. She saw Mulholland. She came up to him +and bent down close to his face. Her hat trailed off. Her hair fell +down over her eyes. She swayed. She pointed her right forefinger +menacingly at Mulholland’s forehead. + +“Listen to me, Bartly,” she said. “You remember me when I was a good +girl an’ when I was a member o’ . . . ye know yersel’ . . . Well, so +was he, wasn’t he? Well, can ye tell me how did Frankie McPhillip get +plugged? Who got the twenty quid that the Farmers’ Union gave out? +Where did he get the money? I’m not shoutin’ any names. No names, no +pack drills. But ye can guess for yersel’. Where did he get his money +from? Was it be robbin’ a sailor at the back o’ Cassidy’s same as he +told me in the pub? Was it?” She suddenly threw her hands over her +head and clawed the air, shrieking. They jumped up and caught her. + +Mulholland got to his feet quietly. He stole out into the street, +avoiding the people who came rushing up to Biddy Burke’s door, +attracted by the screaming. + +Mulholland chuckled as he crossed the street. He would have plenty of +news for Gallagher. After this there would be little difficulty in his +getting McPhillip’s job on the Head-quarters Staff. He stole quietly +into the hallway of Aunt Betty’s house. He went noiselessly up the +stairs without attracting the attention of the revellers who were +still “on the tear.” He reached the landing. There were three doors, +with light streaming through each of them. He listened at each door. +The third was the right one. He stood straight. He lifted the latch +suddenly and strode into the room. He called out as he did so +dramatically: + +“Come on, Gypo, it’s time for ye to be comin’ with me.” + +For a moment he could see nobody, owing to his excitement and the +thick mist of smoke and unescaped vapours which filled the room. He +stood within the door with his feet spread out wide on the bare +moth-eaten boards of the floor, with his right hand in his pocket +fingering his revolver. His heart was beating wildly. Then he became +aware of Gypo’s presence. He felt that peculiar movement in his head +that the realization of Gypo’s presence always caused, a little +snapping movement of unreasoning terror. Then he heard Gypo’s voice, +heavy and hoarse with drunkenness, but cordial and friendly and +distinctly patronizing. + +“Hello, Bartly. Sit down an’ have a drink. Plenty time yet.” + +Then he turned his head towards the fireplace and saw Gypo. + +Gypo was sitting on the floor to the right of the fire, in a corner, +in half-darkness, bare to the waist, with his trousered legs stretched +out at a wide angle, sitting bolt upright, a bottle gripped in his +right hand between his knees, his feet bare. + +Connemara Maggie was standing by the fire drying Gypo’s shirt, his +jacket and his socks. The big boots were resting on a fender before +the fire, steaming. She took no notice of Mulholland’s entrance. With +her golden hair hanging in disorder over her face, with her blouse +undone, with her strong, heavy-boned face covered with perspiration, +with her great, soft eyes swollen and gentle like the eyes of a +heifer, she busied herself tending her man, just as if she had never +left the purity of her Connemara hills and she were tending her +peasant spouse after a hard day’s work in the fields; instead of +tending a casual lover in the sordid environment of a brothel. There +was no hint of vice or of libidinous pleasure in her face or in her +movements. She seemed to be, like Gypo himself, a child of the earth, +unconscious of the artificial sins that are the handiwork of the city. +In her two brawny arms she held the steaming shirt to the blaze. She +stood silent and immovable. + +There was little else in the small, whitewashed, low-ceilinged room. A +bed with the clothes tousled on it, a quilt that lay on the floor by +the bed, a chair on three legs and a weatherbeaten washstand, +containing a basin and a broken jug, comprised the furniture. + +Mulholland looked around at all this before he spoke. It was as well +to get the correct details in case identification were necessary. Gypo +might deny it. Then he spoke. He had recovered his nerve. + +“No,” he said. “I don’t want a drink. It’s time for ye to be comin’.” + +“Be off with ye, ye little divil,” yelled Gypo, suddenly jumping to +his feet, with a great scraping and slapping noise. “Who are ye givin’ +orders to?” + +He took a pace forward and reached out his right hand, but Mulholland +had drawn his revolver and taken a pace to his rear. At the same time +he called out in a hissing whisper: + +“It’s not me orders. It’s the Commandant’s orders, an’ ye better be +careful about disobeyin’ them.” + +Immediately Gypo drew himself up and let his hands drop to his sides. +His face, which had lit up with anger, dropped into that peculiar +wondering expression, which he wore when he was musing on the river +bank before he went into the police-station. He looked at Mulholland +in amazement. His forehead wrinkled. His nostrils expanded and +contracted. His thick lips moved backwards and forwards, up and down. +His face and his cropped skull shone in the light of the paraffin lamp +that rested on the mantelpiece over the fire. The light also shone +across his body, over a bulging bare shoulder that stood out white and +massive and round below his brown neck. The shoulder muscles were +immense. His body was white and hairless. His skin was perfectly +smooth. But everywhere the muscles strained against the skin, in +irregular, moving mounds. They swelled out on his breasts, at his +biceps, above his hips, on his shoulders, just as if his head and neck +were a massive tree growth and the body muscles were its roots, sunk +into the body promiscuously and afar, during centuries of life. + +He looked at Mulholland for some seconds. Then he turned to Maggie. + +“Gimme me clothes, Maggie,” he said quietly. + +She handed them to him in silence. He dressed. He put on his little +tattered round hat. Then he put his hand in his trousers pocket. He +took out all the money he had left. Two pounds four and sixpence. He +put the four and sixpence back into his pocket. He handed the two +pound notes to Maggie. + +“Keep one an’ give the other to Katie Fox,” he said. “Ye’ll find her +down at Biddy Burke’s.” + +She nodded and put the notes within her blouse. + +“So long, Maggie. See you again,” he said, going to the door. + +“So long,” she called after him quietly. + +Gypo stalked out unsteadily, followed by Mulholland. + +After a little while Connemara Maggie also left the room. She went +down to Biddy Burke’s. + +Biddy Burke’s was now thronged with people. They were mostly women of +the district and their men. They had been talking at a terrific rate +when Maggie came in, but a strange silence fell upon them when she +appeared. She did not take any notice of them. Going up to Katie Fox, +who sat by the hearth, on the seat occupied recently by Mulholland, +she took out the pound note and offered it to her. + +“Gypo Nolan gave me this for ye,” she said quietly. + +Katie Fox looked at the note. Then she looked at Maggie. Her under lip +was quivering. Her eyes opened and narrowed spasmodically. She was +moved by some complex emotion that she could not master for the +moment. She did not speak. Others began to whisper. Some spoke out +loud and sharply: + +“Don’t take it, Katie. It’s blood money,” said one. + +“Take it,” said Biddy Burke indignantly. “A pound note doesn’t smell +when it’s changed.” + +“Money is the common whore of all humanity,” stuttered a tall, lean, +drunken gentleman, who dozed by the window with his head dangling. + +“I bet she got more than that to give ye,” said another woman. + +“Yes, I bet she has,” cried Katie Fox, suddenly settling the matter +that was agitating her mind, whatever it was. “I know her. Out with +it, Connemara Maggie,” she screamed, jumping to her feet and squaring +herself. “Out with it an’ don’t stand there tryin’ to melt butter in +me mouth with yer soft looks. How much did he give ye for me? Don’t +tell me he only gave me one quid. Yer a liar before ye open yer mouth +to say so. Ye——” + +“Well of all the stories—” cried Connemara Maggie in amazement. + +“Don’t put on airs, Maggie,” said a woman beside her. “Don’t put on +airs.” + +“Out with the rest o’ the money,” cried Katie Fox. + +“Yer a pack o’ dogs,” cried Connemara Maggie furiously. “Yer a pack +o’——” + +She gasped and could say no more, astounded and hurt bitterly by the +slanderous attack from Katie Fox, to whom she had never spoken in her +life before, except to say good morning. She fumbled at her blouse and +took out the other pound note that Gypo had given her for herself. +Then she took a purse from a hiding-place on her left thigh. She +abstracted another note from that. She put back the purse again. She +threw the three notes at Katie Fox. + +“There ye . . .” she hissed. “That’s all his money. Take it. Maybe +it’s dirty like yersel’. I am well rid of ye. If he’s yer man, keep +him.” + +She spat and strode out of the room, swinging her arms and knocking +out of her way all who came in front of her. + +Some stared after her and swore. Others looked at Katie Fox. Katie had +the three pound notes in her hands and her lips were moving. Then +Biddy Burke whispered something to her. Immediately Katie sighed and +clutched the three notes in her hand, desperately, staring at the +floor. Then she held them out to Biddy Burke rapidly, without looking +in their direction. They lay crumpled in a ball on her quivering thin +palm. + +“Take them, Biddy,” she whispered. Then she suddenly raised her voice +to an hysterical shriek. “Take them, but for God’s sake hurry and give +me something at once. Quick, quick. Give it to me, Biddy. Give it to +me.” + + + +CHAPTER XI + +In the Bogey Hole rats scurried about, careless of the sentry who +tramped up and down, from end to end of the long stone passage, with +his rubber-heeled boots sounding loudly in the cavernous silence. +Drops of water gathered slowly on the stone ceilings and then fell +with soft, empty splashes to the stone floors. Except for the +scurrying of the rats, the falling of the water and the footfalls of +the sentry, there was silence. + +The Bogey Hole, in which the Revolutionary Organization were about to +hold their inquiry into the cause of the death of Francis Joseph +McPhillip, had once been the wine cellars of a nobleman. Above it the +ruins of the house still remained. But everybody had long since +forgotten the name of the owner in the district. The hallway of the +house was choked with rubbish. The two top stories had fallen in. Only +a few rooms remained in a crumbling state. Children played in them and +parties of men played cards for money there on Sundays. That’s all. +But the wine cellars underneath were often used by the Revolutionary +Organization as a meeting-place and for other purposes. + +A wide stone stairway led down into the cellars from the rear of the +hallway. There was a wide passage running straight through the cellars +and rooms opened off the passage on either side. In the first room to +the left of the stairway six men stood about. They were the guard, +seven men including the man who was on sentry. They stood about the +room, or sat on the floor by the wall, with their revolvers strapped +outside their raincoats. A lighted lantern was placed on the floor in +the centre of the room. The faces that were touched by the lantern +light were haggard and pale. Farther down on the same side of the +passage, a larger room was prepared for the inquiry. A small table had +been placed in it. A horse blanket covered the table. There were +several small forms there and a little “bedside table” to the right of +the main table, with a deck chair behind it. A big lamp, turned on +full, hung from the ceiling. It lit up the room so that the dampness +on the walls glittered. Two, tall, lean men stood by the entrance to +the room, one on either side of it. + +Across the passage, still farther away from the stairway, the Rat +Mulligan was sitting on a form in another room. His three guards sat +opposite him on a form. They had their revolvers in their hands. + +All along the passage the light of the big lamp penetrated. It reached +up three of the steps of the stairway. Beyond that and about the roof +of the passage, there was pitch darkness. + +At the far end of the passage the outlines of a door could be seen. It +was a heavy oaken door, very old. Formerly it was the door of an +airtight room where special wines were kept. These wines were let down +into the room from the garden. A trap-door opened off the garden into +the room. The barrels were let down through this trap-door. Now, +however, the room was used by the Revolutionary Organization for +prisoners. A square hole had been made in the upper part of the door +to let in air, so that the prisoners would not suffocate. + +It was three minutes past one. Three men, dressed in long raincoats +and soft hats, with masks over their eyes, came down the stone +stairway. They were immediately challenged by the sentry. One of them +mumbled a word casually. The sentry saluted. They walked quickly down +the passage and entered the inquiry room. The sentries at the door +stood to attention as they entered. They sat down. One of them, he who +sat in the middle, threw an attaché case on the table and yawned. They +all lit cigarettes and began to talk in whispers, with bored, sleepy +voices, hardly opening their lips. They were the three members of the +Central Executive Committee who had been appointed as judges for the +inquiry. + +At twenty minutes past one Commandant Dan Gallagher came down the +stairs with Mary McPhillip. She wore a dark woolen overcoat buttoned +to the throat and belted at the waist. Gallagher was dressed as +before. She looked around her in a frightened manner. Gallagher had to +urge her along with his right hand that held her arm. When the sentry +uttered his challenge she stopped dead, gasped, and put her hands to +her lips. Gallagher began to whisper to reassure her. Trembling and +clutching at his arm, she was led by him into the inquiry room. He put +her sitting on a form and went over to talk to the members of the +Executive Committee, who had not got to their feet or taken any notice +whatsoever. + +At twenty-five minutes past one, a hoarse voice was heard at the top +of the stairs, yelling the words of a ribald song, while another +voice, a hushed one, angrily expostulated. Then there was a savage +grunt, an oath, the sound of a heavy body crashing into something that +broke with a brittle crack and then Gypo came down the stairs. He came +down, slipping on his back, with his arms and legs stretched out, +groping at the air. He landed at the bottom with a thud. He sat up +stiffly. Then he broke out into an amazing peal of laughter. + +Men rushed at him from all directions with their revolvers drawn, as +quickly as if they had been waiting a long time anxiously for his +appearance in that strange manner. But when they saw him sitting there +laughing, with his little tattered round hat fallen forward over his +forehead, they halted and put their revolvers back into their +holsters. + +“Hello, boys,” cried Gypo. “Here I am. What are ye lookin’ at? I’ll +fight any six men that ever walked this earth. Who’s first?” + +He jerked himself to his feet with one sudden forward movement, by +drawing up one heel under him. He stood up, towering suddenly over +those about him. They drew back. Mulholland, who at that moment was +limping down the stairs with his hand to his right eye, sidestepped +quickly with fright as Gypo stood up. He fell headlong past Gypo’s +right shoulder into the arms of two men who reached out to receive +him. Then Gallagher pushed his way to the front. + +“What’s the matter here?” he cried sharply. “To your posts, men, +quickly. Well, Gypo? What’s troubling you now?” + +Gypo clicked his heels with a loud noise and saluted. He staggered +slightly as he saluted. His face, wild with drunkenness, moved +spasmodically, but he remained silent. He had not put on his muffler +on leaving the brothel. His brown neck was bare, the muscles standing +out like ridges on a mountainside. Then he jerked his hat back into +its correct position and shuffled his feet. He broke into a low, thick +laugh. He spoke. + +“You an’ me, Commandant,” he said with a foolish grin. “What ho! We’ll +put ’em all on the run. What d’ye say?” + +Gallagher had been looking steadily at Gypo all the time without a +single movement in his face. He turned away in silence and addressed +Mulholland. + +“What’s the matter with your eye, Bartly?” he said. + +“Oh! he just came in me way,” interrupted Gypo taking a pace forward +and patting Gallagher familiarly on the shoulder. “He came in me +way—uh—an’ I hit him with the back o’ me hand. That’s all, upon me +soul. He’ll be all right again with a bit o’ beefsteak. Don’t worry +yersel’ about him, Commandant.” + +Gallagher drew away with an irritated gesture and walked back to the +inquiry room. Mulholland looked at Gypo with savage hatred in his +eyes. Gypo looked around him arrogantly with his chest swelled out. + +“Nolan,” called out Gallagher from the doorway of the inquiry room, +“get into that room there across the passage. Third on your right. +That’s it. Wait there until you are wanted. See?” + +“All right, Commandant. I see it. I—uh—damn that wall. Stand outa me +way, will ye?” + +Gypo stalked down the passage, slightly unsteady on his feet and +breathing heavily. He brought up suddenly against the wall again and +laughed in his throat with his mouth shut. Then he headed straight for +the room where the Rat Mulligan was sitting with his guard. When he +had entered that room Gallagher beckoned to Mulholland. Mulholland +came up. They both disappeared into the inquiry room. The sentries +came to the doorway. They stood at ease across the doorway, facing the +passage, with their drawn revolvers in their hands. “The preliminary +investigation” had begun: + +Gypo subsided on to a chair beside the Rat Mulligan. He sat for +several moments with a hand on each knee, staring intently at the +ground in front of him, breathing through his nose and twitching his +eyebrows that were like snouts. Then he raised his head and looked +about him. He examined each of the armed men and nodded to each as he +recognized him. They all nodded in return, but in a sour manner. Then +he looked towards the huddled form of the Rat Mulligan and he screwed +up his face in perplexity. He scratched his skull. He took off his hat +and beat it, in a confused way, against his trousers leg, as if he +were dusting it. Then he put it on his head again. He reached out his +right hand as if to touch Mulligan’s shoulder, but when the hand was +within an inch of Mulligan’s shoulder, he jerked it back suddenly. +Then he jumped to his feet with an oath and stood facing Mulligan with +his chest heaving. + +“Mulligan,” he whispered thickly, but with great force. “Hey, Rat! +What ye doin’ here? Hey, Mulligan!” + +Mulligan never moved for two seconds. He sat on his chair, with his +flat feet wide apart and his knees together, with his upturned palms +resting on his knees and his head resting on his palms. His little +emaciated body was covered with a heavy black overcoat, that hung +about him unbuttoned, with its ends trailing on the floor. His hat lay +on the ground beside him where it had fallen unheeded from his skull. +His shaggy black hair was tousled and damp. Then he slowly raised his +head to look at Gypo. His face was yellow and hollow cheeked, with +great sorrowful dark eyes and a large mouth filled with two perfect +rows of yellow teeth. His mouth was wide open. His eyes were staring +and bloodshot. His whole body, ravaged by consumption, was terrible to +behold. Gypo gasped, looking at it. A look of terror came into his +little eyes. + +“Rat,” he whispered, “what brings ye here? Man alive, why aren’t ye in +yer bed? This is no hour for a sick man to be out.” + +The Rat stared at Gypo aimlessly as if he had not heard him and could +not see him. Then, slowly, his head subsided once more on to his +palms. He shivered and sat still. + +Gypo came up to him softly. He stooped down and touched him on the +shoulder, as if to console him or to sympathize with him. But as soon +as his hand touched Mulligan he drew back with an oath. Through his +drunken brain the whole memory of the evening’s proceedings rushed +back under the influence of that touch. He remembered distinctly +himself in the public-house, denouncing the Rat Mulligan to Gallagher, +as the man who had informed against McPhillip. + +He looked about him suspiciously at the armed men. Their eyes were +cast about the room indiscriminately, with the habitual bored look of +men under discipline. They were taking absolutely no interest in Gypo +or in the Rat Mulligan. Gypo sat down again. He took his head between +his hands. He crushed his skull with all his might in a great effort +to regain control of his faculties. + +For three minutes he sat that way, with all his strength concentrated +in the effort to conquer his drunkenness. He was barely conscious of +the effort he was making. It was instinct that warned him of the +dangers that lay ahead of him, instinct aroused by the contact with +Mulligan’s body. His drunkenness resisted fiercely. Continual waves of +reckless delirium surged through his body, rising up from his chest to +his head, with the spontaneous action of sea waves swelling up the +side of an abrupt precipice. His head hummed and swayed. His eyes +blinked. His tongue wagged loose and wanted to talk and sing and +laugh. An unaccountable joy permeated him, a joy that did not +originate in his actual self but in some strange being that had come +to lodge in him temporarily. He could contemplate that new strange +being with savage hatred as he pressed his hands against his skull. +That being was an enemy of his. He must conquer him. + +At last he felt his drunkenness weakening, gradually, like the +lessening of a pain at night. It did not disappear but its effects +changed. Instead of feeling reckless and hilarious, he began to feel +cunning, careful, gloomy, defiant, recklessly strong. His head cooled +and steadied. It seemed to have become suddenly walled with steel, so +that he almost experienced a physical pain from the pressure of his +skull against the skin on his forehead. But he took away his hands +from his forehead and he found that the pain vanished. His teeth set. +His face assumed a look of stony apathy, the lips hanging flabbily, +the cheeks loose, the eyes vacant. All the muscles of his body went +loose, with the looseness of the athlete, who is standing at ease, but +ready to plunge off somewhere like an arrow. + +In response to this change, as it were in his personality, he got to +his feet in a dignified, calculated, imperious manner. He cleared his +throat. He held out his right hand. He spoke. + +“Listen, men,” he said. “I had a drop taken when I came in here. I +didn’t know what I was doin’. I just remembered now who I was talkin’ +to an’ it nearly knocked me dead. Look at him.” He pointed a thick, +short, hairy forefinger at Mulligan. “He wouldn’t speak to me. He’s +afraid to look at me. I know why. It’s him that informed on Frankie +McPhillip an’ he knows that I saw him.” + +“It’s a lie,” screamed Mulligan, suddenly starting up and spreading +out his hands and feet, downwards and outwards, as if he were resting +exhausted after a race. His face was distorted with fear, amazement +and rage. “It’s a lie, boys. It’s a lie I tell yez. Before the Blessed +Mother of the Infant Jesus I swear on me knees that I never left the +house to-day except to go to the chapel to say me prayers.” + +“Ha! Me fine boyo!” cried Gypo excitedly. “Will ye listen to his +oaths? It’s easy work for an informer swearin’ oaths.” + +“Never—” began Mulligan again. But he was cut short by two of the +armed men seizing him by the arms, forcing him back to his seat and +putting a handkerchief over his mouth. + +At the same time Gallagher rushed out of the inquiry room and across +the passage with his pistol in his hand. His sallow, lean face was +aflame with anger. His eyes sparkled like points of fire. He looked at +Gypo for a fleeting moment. It was no longer the cold, contemptuous, +patronizing look with which he had regarded him in the public-house. +It was a look of fierce, relentless hatred. “The preliminary +investigation” had convinced him of something. + +Gypo, on the other hand, looked at Gallagher in a friendly, intimate, +confident manner. + +“Here he is,” he said, pointing at the convulsing body of Mulligan. +“He knows it’s all up with him already. He went into fits when I taxed +him with it. So he did.” + +Then he opened his mouth and gave voice to a hoarse laugh. + +Gallagher smiled faintly into Gypo’s eyes. There was something +diabolic in the smile. It was so inhuman. + +“Come on, you two witnesses,” he said icily. “You, Nolan, and you, +Mulligan. You are wanted at the inquiry now. Lead them in, two of +you.” + +Gypo walked across the passage jauntily, swinging his shoulders, with +his chest thrown out with his head in the air. Mulligan had to be +carried across. He sobbed all the way fitfully. The two sentries with +drawn revolvers again took up their position in the doorway. Now, +however, they had their backs to the passage. They faced the two +witnesses. The two witnesses were seated on a small form in front of +the larger table. They sat side by side. The two armed men who had +conducted them into the room stood close behind them. The three judges +sat in front of Gypo and of Mulligan at the large table. Gallagher sat +at the little table to the right, with Mulholland standing a little to +his rear, peering over his shoulder at what he was reading. To the +right of the judges Mary McPhillip sat on a form alone. + +There was a deadly silence for several moments. Drops of water, one +after another, in irregular succession, could be heard falling from +the stone roof to the stone floor, near the walls. Then the centre +judge spoke in a bored, drawling voice. + +“Take Peter Mulligan’s statement, comrade Gallagher,” he said. + +As soon as Mulligan heard his name mentioned he tried to jump to his +feet, but the man standing behind him held him down. At the same time +Gypo put his hand on Mulligan’s thigh and made a threatening gesture +with his head. + +“Keep quiet, will ye? Ye rat!” he growled. + +“Peter Mulligan,” said Gallagher, “give an account of your whereabouts +from noon to-day until midnight when you were brought in here.” + +Mulligan looked at Gallagher for some time before replying. He was +obviously trying to speak. His lips moved. But terror held the tip of +his tongue against his upper teeth. He could only jabber inaudibly. +Then at last the tongue sprang loose and the words rushed out in a +flood, incoherent, almost inarticulate, like the barking of a dog. +Then he gasped. He paused. When he continued, his speech was regular +and almost calm. He had become possessed of that meaningless courage +that comes to nervous and timorous people, when they find themselves +in a position where it is useless to be careful, or to exercise any +control over themselves. + +“What’s the meaning of this treatment of a working-man?” he cried. “By +you men that are supposed to be out for the freedom of the working +class. Can ye find no better man to arrest an’ carry off in the middle +o’ the night than me, that’s dyin’ on me feet o’ consumption? An’ +havin’, still an’ all, to work me hands off at me trade, tailorin’ an’ +stitchin’ in a basement, that’s more like the cave of a wild animal +than a room. Me that’s——” + +“Mulligan,” interrupted Gallagher impassively but sharply, “I asked +you for a statement of your whereabouts, between noon to-day and +midnight to-night. You better be quick about your statement. We have +no time to waste.” + +Suddenly Mulligan’s short-lived arrogance vanished. He looked around +him on all sides pathetically. He saw only stern, unsympathetic faces. +He sighed and dug his hands deep into his overcoat pockets. Then he +drew the pockets closely about his body and crouched low on his seat. +He began to speak in a meek, timorous voice. + +“Lemme see,” he said, looking at the ground. “At noon to-day, or let +us say dinner time, if it’s the same to you, I was lyin’ in me bed. I +had a bad pain in me right side from bronchitis all the mornin’ an’ I +had to stay in bed with it. At one o’clock about, the old woman gev me +a cup o’ tay an’ an egg. I remember I couldn’t ate the egg. Well, +that’s no matter. I had to get up then, on account of a suit that has +to be made for Mick Foley the carter. It’s got to be finished be +Friday. His daughter is gettin’ married next Monday to——” + +“Don’t mind Foley’s daughter,” snapped Gallagher. “What had she got to +do with your movements? Tell us about yourself.” + +Mulligan began to cough furiously. His body shook and he almost fell +off the form. Then the fit subsided. He sat shivering and unable to +speak. + +“Come on, Rat,” growled Gypo, nudging him with his elbow in the ribs. +“Ye might as well come out with it now as another time. Go ahead an’ +tell ’em all about it.” + +Mulligan looked at Gypo. His lips trembled. His great dark eyes filled +with tears. The terrific, massive countenance of Gypo, cunning with +drunkenness, did not inspire him at that moment with fear. For some +peculiar reason, his poor, shattered soul had gathered to itself just +then a great courage. His withered face shone with a spiritual power. +He spoke softly, tenderly, with pity. + +“It’s not for me to condemn ye,” he said; “maybe yer not responsible.” + +“Blast ye,” yelled Gypo, jumping to his feet. “What does he mean, +Commandant Gallagher, about me not bein’ res-re-prosible? What does he +mean by it? I want to know what he’s drivin’ at.” + +“Sit down, Nolan,” cried Gallagher. “Sit down immediately and keep +quiet. Sit down, I say.” + +Gypo sat down with a clutter. He stared at Gallagher, with the +strange, bewildered look of a dog that has been reprimanded by his +master and is wondering why he has been reprimanded. For the first +time he realized that there was a cold, dangerous ring in Gallagher’s +voice. He sat immovable for two moments, without drawing breath, +meditating on this hostile ring which he had heard in Gallagher’s +voice. + +Unconsciously he took off his little, tattered, round, slouch hat. He +pushed it, without looking at it, into his right-hand trousers pocket. + +Mulligan began again to talk. + +“Lemme see,” he said, “where was I? Oh, yes. I worked on till about +half-past three or maybe a quarter to four, when Charlie Corrigan came +in an’ said that his brother Dave had just come outa jail, after bein’ +on hunger strike for eighteen days. Ye remember he was thrown in on +account of the Slum Rents Agitation. ‘He’s upstairs,’ says Charlie. +Well, I went up an’ we talked over a cup o’ tay until about six +o’clock. It was just six when I left, because I heard the angelus +beginnin’ to strike an’ I on me way down the stairs, because I stopped +to cross mesel’. Then I ran down home an’ put on me overcoat and went +out to the chapel. I’m makin’ the Stations o’ the Cross for . . .” He +stopped and flushed. . . . “Well, it’s no matter to no man why I’m +makin’ em.” + +“All right, then,” snapped Gallagher. “We don’t want to know why you +are making them. We merely want facts, not superstitions. You went +into the chapel at six o’clock, or a few minutes afterwards to be +precise. How far is the chapel from your house?” + +“Maybe it’s a hundred yards, maybe it’s more. If ye go around the +corner be Kane’s it’s less, but be goin’ the other road around——” + +“Oh, damn the other road. Pardon me, Miss McPhillip. Let us say it’s +one hundred yards. You arrived at the chapel then at about three +minutes past six. That correct?” + +“Uh . . . that ud be right . . . about that.” + +“Well? How long did you stay there?” + +“I stayed there until about half-past six. An’ then I stayed talkin’ +outside the door to Fr. Conroy for maybe ten minutes. He wanted to +know——” + +“Did you talk to anybody other than the priest you mention?” + +“I’m comin’ to that. After I left Fr. Conroy I met Barney Kerrigan.” + +“Where? Near the chapel?” + +“Yes. It must have been within fifty yards of it, as yer goin’ be +measurements, although we never——” + +“Just a moment. Were you ever a member of the Revolutionary +Organization?” + +“What makes ye ask that? Does any man know better than yersel’ whether +I was or not?” + +“_Were you a member?_” + +“Sure I was.” + +“That’s better. Why did you leave it?” + +“I left it, Commandant Gallagher, for reasons that are known to +yersel’ as well as they are to me.” His voice became passionate and +shrill. “I left it because the only one I cared for in this world, +outside me old woman, that’s me sister, came to her doom through it. +But it’s not for me to judge. It’s not for me . . .” + +“Very well,” interrupted Gallagher. “You left the Organization owing +to a personal grievance. Was that grievance against any particular +member of the Organization?” + +“I bear no fellow-man a grudge,” cried Mulligan solemnly. + +“You had no grievance against Francis Joseph McPhillip?” + +“Lord have mercy on his soul,” cried Mulligan, crossing himself with +his eyes on the ceiling. “I hope his sorrows are over him.” He turned +to Miss McPhillip. “I swear on me immortal soul, Miss McPhillip, that +I bore no grudge agin yer brother.” + +“All right,” said Gallagher. “Well. Tell us what you did after leaving +Barney Kerrigan.” + +“I went back to the house after that. I did another bit o’ work until +about eight o’clock. I didn’t do much because fellahs kept comin’ in +an’ out an’ me eyes are not as good as they used to be an’ the gas now +is a disgrace to the city. But anyhow, I finished the waistcoat. Then +I went upstairs to Jim Daly’s room on the third floor. Poor man, he’s +sick this three years with bad kidneys. Only for a pension he has outa +the British Navy, there’s no knowin’ what ud happen to him, an’ he +havin’ no one to look after him but himself, an’ he that delicate. We +had a smoke an’ a talk until about ten o’clock. Then I came down +again. The old woman had just come in, so we had another cup o’ tay +an’ a herring. Then I sat be the fire readin’ a newspaper until about +half-past eleven. Then I began to pouch about makin’ ready to go to +bed, when three men under Tommy Connor came in an’ put a mask over me +face an’ bundled me into a car, without by yer leave, as if I was a +criminal. That’s all.” + +There was a slight pause. Everybody sighed for some reason. + +“Very good, Mulligan,” said Gallagher. “That will do.” + +He got up and went over to the judges’ table. The four of them talked +for about two minutes. The centre judge read from a paper in a +mumbling voice. Another judge took notes, scratching loudly with his +pen. There was a pause. Then another discussion in whispers began. +Then Gallagher came back to his seat. + +“Nolan,” he said, quite suddenly, “repeat the statement concerning +Peter Mulligan that you made to me in Ryan’s public-house in Titt +Street at ten-forty-five this night.” + +“Yes, Commandant,” said Gypo immediately. + +He cleared his throat aggressively and rattled off the story about his +having seen Mulligan track Francis Joseph McPhillip out of the Dunboy +Lodging House. He spoke in a clear, loud and distinct voice, making +arrogant gestures and looking straight into Gallagher’s eyes as he +spoke. + +Mulligan kept trembling while Gypo spoke. He seemed all the time +trying to interrupt, but although his lips twitched and his hands +trembled he neither moved nor spoke. + +Gypo finished speaking. His loud, strong voice died out, leaving a +sudden silence behind it. There was another slight pause. + +“What time exactly did you see Mulligan leave the lodging-house?” said +Gallagher. + +“Just half-past six,” replied Gypo immediately. “I know because I +looked at the clock in the hall.” + +“Very well,” said Gallagher. “That will do you, Nolan. Miss McPhillip, +what time did your brother arrive at your father’s house?” + +“He arrived at ten minutes to seven,” said Mary, after a little pause, +during which she blushed slightly, glanced at Gallagher and then +looked at the ground. “It might be a little earlier than that, but not +more than a minute or so. I had just come in from business.” + +“Did he say anything about being followed when he came?” + +“No. On the contrary, he said that he was certain that he was not +noticed since he came into town at half-past five. Mother was very +worried about his being in town, and she wanted to get him away +immediately, but he was so confident about being safe that she thought +it was all right his staying for the night. He said he met Nolan at +the lodging-house. That was the only person he spoke to, he said. He +came by back streets after leaving the lodging-house. He never stopped +anywhere and he spoke to nobody. He crossed the river at the Metal +Bridge. It was pitch-black at that time on account of the rain and the +fog. Anybody that knew Frankie’s way of going along, listening to +every sound, with ears as sharp as a fox, could hardly believe that he +was followed without his knowing it. He came in suddenly by the back +entrance through the yard. We thought it was his ghost,” she said with +a little shiver of remembrance. She stopped and put her handkerchief +to her face. + +“Thank you, Miss McPhillip,” said Gallagher. “Barney Kerrigan out +there?” + +“Kerrigan there?” + +“Kerrigan?” + +“Yes. I’m coming,” came a voice from along the passage somewhere. + +A tall man, wearing a black slouch hat and a new, though shabby, grey +overcoat with a velvet collar, came into the room. He had a revolver +strapped over his overcoat at the waist. He saluted and stood to +attention. + +“Did you meet Peter Mulligan at six-thirty this evening?” said +Gallagher. + +“Yes, Commandant,” replied Kerrigan. “I saw him just about that time +comin’ down the street. He stopped me to know did I know anythin’ for +the Grand National.” + +“Very well. You are quite sure about the time?” + +“Well, I couldn’t give ye the exact second, but it couldn’t be more +than a minute one way or the other. I knocked off work at six an’ it +takes me always just about twenty minutes to walk from the quays as +far as Farelly’s. Well, I had a pint in Farelly’s an’ I stopped for a +few minutes to talk to the boys, an’ then when I came out I met Peter +Mulligan. Just about half-past six I’d say it was.” + +“Very well,” said Gallagher, “return to your post. Peter Mulligan, you +can go now. You will be taken home in the car that brought you here +and we’ll see you right for any inconvenience that was caused to you.” +He walked over to the judges and whispered something hurriedly. They +all nodded and put their hands in their pockets. “One moment, +Mulligan,” he called. They all gave him money. He added some from his +own pocket. He came over to Mulligan and handed him a fistful of +silver. “For the present this might help you. I’ll see what can be +done for you later on. I’ll bring your case up before the Relief +Committee. Good-night, Comrade.” + +Mulligan took the money with bowed head. He got up and moved to the +door hurriedly without saying a word, with his hat crushed in his two +hands and his overcoat flapping behind him. He disappeared out the +door, head first, stooping, hauling his two flat feet after him as if +he were dragging them against their will. Then, with a hard, biting +cough he disappeared. + +The sentries stood again across the door. Gallagher walked slowly back +to his table. He sat down. There was a deadly silence. + +The silence lasted only about twelve seconds. During this pause +Gallagher took out a notebook and turned over the pages, while +Mulholland bent over his shoulder whispering something, and the three +judges murmured with their heads close together. But to Gypo these +twelve seconds were as long as twelve years to a man stricken with a +painful and incurable disease. A succession of terrors flitted through +his mind. They were not ideas or thoughts, but almost tangible terrors +that seemed to materialize in his brain as the result of the reasoning +of some foreign being. His cunning and his assurance were gripped +suddenly by that amazing foreigner and hurled out of him, clean out of +him into oblivion, like two bullets fired through the air. + +Ha! They were hurled out of him by the amazing fact of Mulligan’s +disappearance, free, with money in his pocket given to him by +Gallagher. They had given him money. They had called him comrade. They +had promised to bring his case up before the Relief Committee. They +sent him away free. He had gone. . . . Jesus, Mary and Joseph! What +was the meaning of it? + +Then suddenly, as he sat there, bolt upright on his seat, massive, +those unspeakable terrors crowded into his mind. They came ready-made, +fully matured, nauseating like bilious attacks, sharp and biting like +bayonet wounds, heavy and ponderous like palpitations of the heart. +They came, one, two, three, four . . . scores of them, lining up in +his brain, shoulder to shoulder, in a mass, standing there solidly and +then immediately disappearing like ghosts without a sound and giving +place to others. There was a mass of them but each one was distinct. +Each had its own peculiar silent screech. Each had its own peculiar +demoniac grin. Each had its own peculiar . . . damn them all! The +curse of them was that he did not know what they were. It seemed that +his personality was bound in chains and he was unable to grapple with +the cursed things. He must sit still, bolt upright on his wooden form, +and permit them to stand there unchallenged in his brain. He was +helpless. A cold sweat came out through every pore of his body. + +Four seconds passed. Then his mind began to grope about among the +terrors, timorously, like a snail that has been touched and has gone +into his shell feigning death and has come out again touching blades +of grass suspiciously and wriggling its horns. Gypo opened his +nostrils and his mouth. He drew in a deep breath through both organs +simultaneously. The cold sweat suddenly became warm. His blood flooded +his head with a surging movement. He became ferocious. At first his +eyes narrowed and his eyebrows that were like snouts bent down. Then +his eyes opened wide and his eyebrows lifted, like guns that are +elevated in order to train them on a target. His lower lip dropped. +His mind began to work methodically. The terrors vanished out of it +and gave place to an iron determination to fight to the bitter end. + +With his blood maddened by alcohol, he became conscious of the vast +strength in his body. He almost experienced a feeling of happiness at +this opportunity for using it. It was that savage joy that is always +present in the Irish soul in time of danger, the great fighting spirit +of our race, born of the mists and the mountains and the gurgling +torrents and the endless clamour of the sea. + +He looked around him measuring those against whom he had to fight. To +his left he saw Mary McPhillip sitting. She had her hands in her lap. +She was leaning forward slightly, with a nervous expectant look in her +eyes, looking at Gallagher. She cast a terrified glance, occasionally, +towards Gypo, but her eyes always came back to Gallagher’s face as if +they were fascinated by it. It was obvious that she was terrified and +that her mind was trying to keep itself fixed on the object of the +prayers which her moving lips were uttering. Gypo saw the terror in +her quivering face and knew that he had nothing to fear from her. Then +he looked at the three judges. He knew those masked men. They were +merely puppets, politicians, figure-heads who would do Gallagher’s +bidding, afraid to contradict him. Ha! Gallagher was the man he had to +fight. Gallagher and that rat Mulholland. He saw them over by the +little table with their heads together. He fixed his eyes on them. + +Feverishly he set himself to form a plan, not that he hoped anything +at this hour from the formation of a plan, but merely because making a +plan was an end in itself to his peculiar reason. But he could not +even think of a plan. All his energies were concentrated on +maintaining his anger at fever heat. He struggled feebly with threads +of ideas and then dropped them hopelessly. He doubled up his fists and +held them, knuckles downwards, one on each hip. The two armed men who +stood behind him, saw his back muscles rise and strain against his +dungaree jacket. + +Then the silence broke. Gallagher got up with his open notebook in his +hand. He walked over to the judges’ table. He placed the notebook in +front of the judges, pointing out something with his finger. The +centre judge nodded. Gallagher walked back again to his table and sat +down. Gypo followed every movement with frenzied excitement. He seemed +to be on the point of jumping to his feet and rushing at Gallagher. +The two sentries in the doorway and the two armed men standing behind +Gypo’s back slipped their fingers over their revolver triggers. They +leaned forward slightly. There was a tense moment. Then Gallagher +looked at Gypo and began to speak sharply, in a low, restrained voice. + +“Now Gypo,” he began, “tell us how you spent your time from six +o’clock this evening until you came in here at half-past one. Hurry +up. Don’t waste any time. We are in a hurry.” + +Gypo’s eyes almost shut. Then his face seemed to swell. His mouth +contorted. + +“What’s it got to do with you where I ben?” he thundered in a queer, +hollow voice. It seemed his mouth had gone dry. + +“You never know,” said Gallagher carelessly. “It might be interesting +for us to know. Don’t you feel like telling us how you’ve been amusing +yourself from the time you met Francis Joseph McPhillip at six o’clock +in the Dunboy Lodging House until you came in here?” + +“An’ supposin’ I don’t tell ye, what are ye goin’ to do? Wha’?” + +“Well, I’m not going to tell you that. But we can do a lot. You know +that yourself, don’t you? You have your choice in the matter. You +either tell me or I’ll go to the trouble of telling you and the court +myself.” He paused for an instant and then added: “with the help of +Bartly Mulholland here.” + +Then he stared at Gypo dispassionately, with the cold and indifferent +look of a man examining a statue. Gypo’s chest heaved in and out. He +had not been prepared for this point-blank attack from Gallagher. He +had expected that Gallagher would adopt his usual tactics of +friendliness and cajolery, trusting to madden his prey into letting +some choice important word slip unawares from his lips. Gypo felt +himself actually cheated out of his rights by this insultingly crude +and insolent attack. Gallagher was not even doing him the honour of +playing with him. Then he must know everything already. Did he? + +The last trace of his self-control left Gypo. He abandoned himself to +a frenzy of passion. A delirious wave of ferocity mastered him. He +clenched his fists so that the bones cracked. His right leg went so +rigid that the boot rushed along the stone floor with a harsh scraping +sound, until it brought up with a bang against the leg of the form. +There it stayed. His knee was pointed and shivering. He opened his +mouth and yelled, almost incoherently, a torrent of blasphemous and +obscene oaths at Gallagher. He yelled them in an endless sentence, +without a verb or pronoun or conjunction. He kept yelling until he had +to stop for breath. + +When Gypo stopped, Mary McPhillip’s sobs became audible. She was +trembling violently and sobbing. Gallagher got up, walked past Gypo +without taking the slightest notice of him and took Mary by the arm. +He led her up to the judge’s table. + +“I have no further need of this witness,” he said, “so I suppose I may +take her into another room.” + +The judges nodded. He led Mary out of the room. Gypo’s eyes followed +him everywhere. He was staring wildly and he seemed to have lost all +power of directing his bodily activities. He was shivering +spasmodically in his legs. Gallagher came back into the room and sat +down at his table. + +Still Gypo’s eyes were concentrated on Gallagher’s face. His outburst +had left him completely empty, like a shaken sack. There was a pain at +the pit of the stomach. Mob orators know that pain, when they have +spoken for over an hour under a perfect hail of frenzied +interruptions. His eyes were dazed. Some machinal force kept his eyes +concentrated on Gallagher’s face. He responded to every movement of +Gallagher’s face in a half-conscious way. Every time Gallagher moved a +limb he felt a sharp stab in the pit of the stomach. He was conscious +of even the most minute movements. A thing that terrified him +especially was Gallagher’s chronic habit of twitching his cheeks by +grinding his back teeth at intervals. + +As before, this agony lasted during a few moments only, during the +time that Gallagher was looking at some notes on his table, with +furrowed forehead. But the moments seemed years, the agony was so +concentrated. Gallagher spoke again. + +Then again a strange change came over Gypo. For as soon as Gallagher +spoke he felt an instantaneous relief. He breathed deeply. He sighed. +A delicious tremor swept over his body like a cool breeze sweeping the +back of a sultry sea in summer. His jaws set again. Gallagher’s voice +had a different ring in it. It was softer. It was friendly. It +was . . . honour bright . . . it was argumentative. Then there was a +chance. . . . There must be a chance yet. . . . + +“What did you mean, Gypo?” cried Gallagher. “What did you mean by +telling us all those lies about the Rat Mulligan? You should be +ashamed of yourself. Even if you got a grudge against a man, that’s no +reason why you should try to get a thing like that slung on to him. +Good Lord! You’re a funny man, Gypo. What put it into your head to +tell me that you saw him this evening at the Dunboy Lodging House, +when we know very well that he was within one hundred yards of his own +home at that very minute, three miles away or more? Were you drunk or +what?” + +“I know I was drunk,” cried Gypo, responding joyfully to this friendly +overture from Gallagher. His anger vanished. His whole soul leaned out +eagerly towards Gallagher, craving support. He paused momentarily +after uttering the first sentence. He remained silent, leaning +forward, looking at Gallagher, intently, as if he expected Gallagher +to finish the statement for him. But when Gallagher’s thin lips +remained sealed, he hurtled on excitedly, as if he were stumbling +recklessly through dangerous obstacles. His voice was uneven and +flurried. “But I’d swear be Almighty God that it was him I saw goin’ +out the door and runnin’ up the lane after Frankie. An’ if it wasn’t +him it must have been somebody else like him, for I’d know the cut of +his shoulders anywhere. I would if ye put my head in a bag.” + +“You told me,” continued Gallagher in the same friendly scolding tone, +“that you followed the Rat across town until you came to . . . Where +was that you said you lost sight of him? I forgot now.” + +Gypo started and stuttered. Good Lord, what had he said? He must say +the same thing he had said before. But he could not remember saying +that he followed the Rat across town. Did he say it in the +public-house or did he not. His forehead was burning. The hammering at +the top of his skull was blinding his eyes with pain. Almost +unconsciously he put his hand to his forehead and blurted out, +pathetically, on a peculiar high note, an amazingly childish and +hysterical sentence. + +“Commandant, I’m all mixed up an’ I can remember nothin’.” + +It was horrid, that pitiful, forlorn cry of pain and of absolute +despair coming from such a giant. + +“All right then,” said Gallagher, “don’t worry yourself. We have to +get to the bottom of this business, so we’ll just set to work, the two +of us, and maybe we can piece the whole thing together. Now the best +thing we can do is to begin at the end and go backwards. We’ll work +backwards until we come to the point where you lost that man you saw +tracking Frankie McPhillip out of the Dunboy Lodging House. In that +case we’ll begin with where you were before you came in here. Bartly +Mulholland tells us that you were at Aunt Betty’s, with a woman called +Connemara Maggie. You must have been with her, because Bartly saw you +with his own eyes giving her two pound notes. There were three empty +whisky bottles in the room. They had been bought by you, I suppose. +Well? A man is entitled to drink his own whisky that he has bought +with his _own_ money, I suppose. That has got nothing to do with our +business, has it Gypo? None whatsoever. We merely want to trace that +man that tracked Francis Joseph McPhillip out of the Dunboy Lodging +House. Well! What do we find next? A friend of yours called Katie Fox, +once upon a time a comrade of ours, they are all to the front in this +business, all those people that were once comrades of ours, she told +Bartly Mulholland that you gave three pounds to an English woman at +Aunt Betty’s and two pounds to Aunt Betty to pay a debt for this +woman. You wanted to send her back to London. A kind of Barnardo’s +Home or something, this Aunt Betty’s, for stray women. Well, of +course, that again has nothing to do with us. A man is entitled to do +what he likes with his _own_ money. But. . . . Good Lord, Gypo,” he +cried, striking the table and bursting out into a strange hilarious +laugh, “you were having a time of it. Where did you get all the money? +Ha! Now don’t get excited. I know it’s no business of mine. But +if you’re going to be taken back into the Organization . . . Well! +There are ugly rumours flying about. . . . You know the way silly +rumours fly around Dublin. It’s awful. But the fact is, that people +are talking about sailors, American sailors, being robbed at the +back of Cassidy’s public-house. It’s only a rumour, of course, and +again, that friend of yours, Katie Fox—shall we call her one of our +ex-comrades?—she is responsible for the rumour, according to Bartly +Mulholland. Of course, it’s obviously originated with her. She has +very probably invented that story out of spite, simply because you +went with the other girl. Or . . . Tell me, is there any truth in it, +Gypo? I mean in the rumour of your having robbed a sailor?” + +Gypo started, as if out of a heavy sleep. His brain went “thud, thud, +thud,” trying to think whether he should say “yes,” or “no.” If he +said “yes,” would he be caught in the act of telling a lie? If he said +“no,” would he be able to find any other means of explaining how he +got the money? Several other questions and problems also crowded into +his mind simultaneously, in confusion. There were doubts, +uncertainties and suspicions. He was completely in a mesh. His mind +was like a refuse heap. There was no beginning or end to any chain of +reasoning. He gave it up in despair. + +“Commandant,” he said, again touching his forehead, “I can make out +nothin’. My head is sore. I must be drunk.” + +Again it was the same bewildered, agonizing cry of a lost human soul. +A weak, thin, childish voice, coming from a giant. + +“Well, never mind,” said Gallagher cheerfully, “we’ll leave it at +that. We’ll carry on. Before you went down to Aunt Betty’s, Mulholland +saw you in a fish-and-chip shop, treating a crowd of people to a free +meal. He said you spent about a pound there. Two pounds, three pounds, +two pounds, one pound. . . . Well! You certainly were in a generous +mood. American sailors are paid well of course. Throwing money about +in all directions, eh? Like a millionaire! But of course that’s your +own business. We are simply trying to get at the bottom of the +business we have in hand. That business is simply this: _who informed +on your pal Francis Joseph McPhillip?_” + +Gallagher uttered the sentence slowly and in a loud voice, looking +closely at Gypo as he did so. Gypo started. His lips opened wide. But +he remained silent. His lips moved, forming the words Gallagher had +uttered, silently. + +Gallagher watched the movement of Gypo’s lips with curious detachment. +Then he smiled slightly before continuing. + +“Before that of course,” he continued, “I met you myself in the +public-house, in—er—Ryan’s public-house in Titt Street. There was +where you told me that funny story about the Rat Mulligan. Ha, ha, ha! +Ha, ha, ha! . . .” + +Gallagher suddenly roared with laughter, holding his sides, with his +head in the air. Gypo almost leaped from his form. He trembled. + +“Well, of all the stories!” continued Gallagher, pretending to gasp +with laughter. “I can’t make out why you told me that story, Gypo. I +can’t make it out. Well, there’s no knowing. . . . But we must get on +with our own work. Time’s running short and we have some stiff work to +do before the night’s over. Some stiff work, Gypo. Well? Before you +came into the public-house you were in Francis McPhillip’s house in 44 +Titt Street. There again, you seemed to be acting in a very funny way, +according to Bartly Mulholland. Of course, I can understand your being +stirred up and excited on account of the death of your pal. But +still. . . . Do you remember giving Mrs. McPhillip the money that fell +out of your pocket on to the kitchen floor? What did you do that for? +Eh? Good Lord! You have left a trail of gold after you all the +evening. I wish it were as easy to track the man you saw coming out of +the Dunboy Lodging House after Frankie. But why did you give that few +shillings to Mrs. McPhillip and say it was all the money you had when +you knew very well you had a lot more in your pocket at that very +moment?” + +“I don’t know,” growled Gypo. + +His voice was no longer weak and childish. He was stiffening again. + +“Maybe you were drunk even then,” suggested Gallagher, almost +excitedly, as if he were deliberately trying to apologize for Gypo’s +absurdities. “Maybe you were drunk. What?” + +“Didn’t I tell ye before I was drunk,” grunted Gypo. + +“Ha! I knew ye were drunk. Where had you been drinking?” + +“Couldn’t tell ye where, but I know I was drinkin’ with Katie Fox.” + +“Ha! Now we have it,” cried Gallagher, striking the table. + +“Now you got what?” yelled Gypo, panting and leaning forward savagely. +He opened his fists out like claws. He spread his feet out ready to +spring. “What have ye got, Commandant?” he yelled hoarsely. + +Gallagher took his pistol by the butt and tapped the muzzle slightly +on the table three times. The two armed men pointed their revolvers at +Gypo’s back. The three judges who had been calmly smoking cigarettes +started. Mulholland made a slight movement towards the door. + +Then Gypo subsided into his seat loosely. The dreadful fascination of +Gallagher’s cold eyes sucked his passion clean out of him. Breathing +in a tired way, he sat still. The tension relaxed again. Gallagher +laid his pistol on the table and smiled. + +“No need to have got excited, Gypo,” he said. “I was just saying that +it was when you were drinking with Katie Fox you said you robbed a +sailor at the back of Cassidy’s public-house. Maybe she asked you +where you got the money out of pure idle curiosity and you told her +that as a joke. We all know what curious creatures women are. That +doesn’t matter, though. What does matter is this. Could you remember +what time that was? When you were drinking with Katie Fox? What time +was it?” + +“I can’t say,” mumbled Gypo stolidly. “I’m drunk. I can’t remember.” + +“Well, now that’s a pity,” said Gallagher. “For it’s very important +for us to find out what that time was. If we were able to find out +what time that was, then we would surely be able to find out lots +more. Let us say it was nine o’clock at that time. Let us say nine. +That wouldn’t be far out? Would it be far out, Gypo?” + +“How do I know what time it was?” roared Gypo. “Amn’t I tellin’ ye +that I was drunk?” + +“Well, now,” continued Gallagher, getting a little more excited, “we +have got as far as nine o’clock. We are as far back as nine o’clock.” + +He paused. His face began to light up and his forehead began to +wrinkle. His eyes were no longer steely and cold. They became restless +points, fiery and full of turbulent activity. They kept roaming over +Gypo’s face. His lips, on the contrary, were creased at the corners in +a strange, dry smile. His voice was laughing and at a slightly higher +and sweeter pitch. + +“Now we have arrived at nine o’clock,” he continued, “travelling +backwards. Great way this for travelling, Gypo. You never know what +you are going to bump against without knowing. Any minute now we are +liable to find something, Gypo. We might in a few moments, even jump +on the man that informed on Frankie McPhillip. _We might jump on him._ +Now! Easy there, Gypo. I mean the man you saw tracking Frankie +McPhillip out of the Dunboy Lodging House. Could you give the court +any idea of the description of that man you saw? You say he was like +Mulligan? Do you say he was like Mulligan? Speak, man. _Speak, I +say_,” he roared. + +But Gypo was no longer able to speak. + +A sudden transformation had come over him. As a thunder-storm bursts +over a calm sea on a sultry day, rending the oily ocean back and +covering it with cavorting, black ridges and white, churning froth, so +his body and soul responded to the sudden lightning in Gallagher’s +eyes and the ominous crackle of his voice, uttering sugared threats, +gambolling devilishly with words. He crumbled away into an immense, +flabby, supine mass, that writhed on the wooden form, a tangled heap +of limbs lying piled helplessly. His head dropped forward on his +chest, swaying from side to side on the pivot of his chin. His eyes +sank into their sockets. His face went ashen and still. His legs +became lax. His stomach wrinkled up like an unpropped wall collapsing +on its own foundations. His whole body shivered and started into +awe-inspiring movement, monstrous and inhuman, revolting as a +spectacle of degrading vice and yet pitiful in its helplessness. + +All the countless centuries of human development that had left their +impression on that body, to make it into the glorious image of a +God-like human being, withered away during that time of agony, leaving +only a chaotic collection of limbs writhing and strange visions racing +over his convulsing features. + +The sight was fearsome even to the callous men that surrounded him. +Even _their_ hardened souls saw a vision of a strange life just then, +an unknown and unexpected phantom that comes to some once in their +lives and that never comes to many, the phantom of a human soul +stripped naked of the covering of civilization, lying naked and +horror-stricken, without help, without hope of mercy. They forgot for +the moment their hatred of him. They forgot that this helpless, +shapeless mass of humanity was a menace to their lives. They forgot +that he was a viper they must crush. They only knew at that moment, +that he was a poor, weak human being like themselves, a human soul, +weak and helpless in suffering, shivering in the toils of the eternal +struggle of the human soul with pain. + +Their mouths opened wide. Their eyes grew soft. Some made unconscious +movements with their hands, others with their feet, unconscious +movements of which their minds were not aware. For their minds, +disciplined by the corroding influence of hatred, sat still and +indifferent. + +One man alone revelled in Gypo’s agony. He revelled in it +unconsciously. He was no longer conscious of his emotions. He had +become demented, drunk with the fury of his hatred. That man was +Gallagher. + +He rose lightly from the table, without a word, pawing the table +softly with his hands for support, like a panther finding foothold for +a spring. His lean, glossy, sallow face was lit with a glow of +passionate eagerness, like a lover approaching his beloved. But it was +not the pure, resplendent eagerness of love. It was the eagerness of +the preying beast about to spring. The lips laughed, thin, wrinkled, +red lips drawn upwards and downwards from the set, white teeth. The +eyes glittered. The forehead twitched. The hands trembled. The whole +body shivered slightly, with those minute shivers that pass down the +side of a setter when he stands poised over his prey. He rose +gradually from the table. He stepped over his chair with his right +foot, to avoid moving the chair. He released his body from contact +with the table and the chair. His eyes were fixed on Gypo’s face. He +stood crouching. His head was swung forward, almost on a level with +his stooping shoulders. He groped with his right hand on the table for +his pistol. His fingers found the butt. Slowly they embraced it. The +forefinger sought the trigger and found it. He lifted the pistol from +the table. He brought it with a sharp movement to his hip. Its muzzle +pointed at Gypo’s chest. He took one short pace forward. + +Gypo uttered a sharp yell and put his two hands to his face, shielding +his eyes. But he took them away again almost immediately. They dropped +to his sides. He must look at Gallagher’s eyes. He could not remain +hidden from those eyes. They burned into his flesh unless he looked at +them with his own. + +Gallagher spoke. His voice was almost inaudible. It was soft and sweet +like a girl’s voice. + +“As you seem to have lost your voice,” he whispered, “I had better +tell you myself who that man was. There’s no need to describe him for +the court. The court can see the man for themselves. I’m going to tell +the court the very name of the informer that betrayed his comrade, +Francis Joseph McPhillip, I’m going to point out the informer with my +own hand. That is the man,” he cried suddenly, with terrific force, +turning to the judges and pointing his pistol at Gypo. “Comrades, the +informer is Gypo Nolan, who is sitting there on that form.” + +He had scarcely finished when Gypo uttered a muffled scream like a +dumb animal in mortal agony. He tumbled forward to the stone floor. He +frothed at the mouth. He reached out his trembling hands towards +Gallagher. + +“Commandant,” he cried, “I didn’t know what I was doin’. I declare to +God I didn’t know what I was doin’. Can’t ye see what I mane?” He +raised his voice to a scream and he kept dragging himself forward over +the floor towards Gallagher’s feet. Then he struggled to his hands and +knees. He stretched out his hands on either side, panting: “Is there +no man here to tell him why I did it? I can’t tell him. My head is +sore. I can’t tell him. Commandant, Commandant, you an’ me, +Commandant. We’ll make a plan, the two of us . . . uh-r-r-r. . . .” + +His voice sank into an inarticulate jabber as his hands clutched +Gallagher’s boots and he sank again prone to the ground. His thick +lips that tried to kiss Gallagher’s boots were imprinting kisses on +the stone flags. Gallagher kicked away the clutching hands and called +out sharply: + +“Take him to the cell and place him under close guard.” + +Immediately the four armed men rushed forward and bent down to seize +Gypo. But as soon as they touched him, he stiffened. He immediately +rose with them to his feet, with an accession of unaccountable +strength. He shook the four men off with a shrug of his whole body. +Then he was about to crouch to rush at Gallagher, when the four of +them flung themselves upon him again with a simultaneous cry. He +swayed for a moment on bent thighs, reeling under the impact of the +four bodies, two of them on his back, two gripping him about the +waist. Then he took a fierce, taut step forward with his right foot, +gasping as he did so. He planted the boot on the floor with a ringing +sound and then jerked himself backwards. The two men who had landed on +his back, flung their arms around his neck and swayed, banging their +heads together, their legs flying adrift. A cry arose: “Overpower him. +Help! Help!” + +The three judges moved back from the table and stood against the wall, +undecided whether to run for safety, or to rush to the attack. + +Mulholland pulled at Gallagher’s arm excitedly. + +“Will I fire, Commandant?” he whispered. + +“Don’t shoot,” murmured Gallagher in a dazed, sleepy voice. He was +staring at the struggling men with a sad smile on his face, as if he +were dreaming. “Don’t shoot. He’s not sentenced yet. Don’t fire, I +tell you.” + +Then Mulholland ran crouching and threw himself at Gypo’s legs, trying +to encompass them with his arms. There were now five men hanging on to +Gypo. He was like Laocoön, entwined with snakes. He stood bolt +upright, with every muscle on his body knotted. + +Then he lurched away to the right towards the door, with that human +cargo, unmoored and swinging by the sudden lurch, clashing with soft +thuds, in a panting mass. He was brought within three paces of the +door by the lurch. He saw the door. With an immense wrench that made +his biceps crack, he shook the men from off his back and neck. They +slithered downwards with a scratching sound of their nails clawing his +clothes. They clung round his hips. Then he growled and stooped down +to manhandle the men that clung to his legs. His groping hands +clutched Mulholland’s hair. His fingers groped downwards, seeking the +throat to garrotte him, when a mad rush of feet startled him. He +looked up. + +They were rushing at him through the doorway. He saw them for a +moment, a number of flashing eyes, and set lips and clawing hands, +rushing at him. Then he dived headlong at his new enemies. He forced +them backwards in a mass into the doorway. There they all fell, amid +yells and hissing curses and shrieks of pain. Then Gypo’s great boots +stuck out of the pile in the centre, while Mulholland’s grinning, +sallow face peered up between them. + +When they cleared away the jam of human bodies from him he was +exhausted. Four men pinioned his arms behind his back. Then he was +dragged along the passage into the prison cell. They loosed him and +threw him in. They bolted the door. + + + +CHAPTER XII + +At eleven minutes past three Gypo was condemned to death. The three +judges went away, leaving Gallagher in charge of the execution of the +sentence. + +At eighteen minutes past three Mulholland entered the inquiry room, +with the three men who had been detailed to carry out the sentence +passed on the prisoner. They stood to attention in front of the table +at which Gallagher was sitting. Gallagher read to them the decision of +the court. Then he gave them their orders. + +“Comrade Mulholland,” he said, “will be in charge. When I leave this +room you will cast lots in the usual manner. You will then take the +prisoner in the motor-van to any part of the mountain road, about +half-way between Killakee and Glencree. There is bog on either side of +the road. At any spot in that locality, you will be at least two miles +from the nearest house. Execute the sentence there. Bury the body some +distance from the road. Just drop it into a pool of bog water. When +you have finished the job go straight ahead across the mountain to +Enniskerry and come back to the city by another route. There are +several. You can choose the most convenient. Report to me at +head-quarters as soon as you come back, Bartly. I will wait for you +there. Carry on, comrades. Get the prisoner away as quickly as +possible. Use force if necessary to prevent him from creating a +disturbance, but you must on no account execute the sentence until you +get to the mountains.” + +Gallagher left the room. He went across the passage to the room where +Mary McPhillip was sitting alone. All the armed men were gathered in +the guardroom at the foot of the stairs. Tommy Connor had come in now. +He was explaining something to them in a hoarse voice. Two men were +stationed outside the door of the cell. The sentry paced up and down +the passage again. + +Gallagher sat down on the wooden form beside Mary McPhillip. He did +not look at her. He stared at the floor. His forehead twitched. His +face was very drawn. + +“We have discovered the informer, Mary,” he said in a low voice. “Your +brother will be shortly avenged. It was Gypo Nolan who betrayed him.” + +There was silence. Gallagher had uttered the last sentence +dramatically, like a tremendous revelation. But Mary did not speak. He +looked at her. + +“Mary,” he said again, a little louder. “It was Gypo Nolan who +informed on your brother.” + +She shuddered and looked at him sadly in the gloom. + +“I knew that,” she said, “all along. Poor fellow.” + +“What?” he gasped, staring at her. + +“What are you going to do with him, Dan?” she asked, almost inaudibly. +“I hope you’re not . . .” She stopped. + +Gallagher looked at her sharply, in wonder, suspiciously, as if he had +suddenly proved to himself that all his calculations had been wrong +about something. + +“Surely what, Mary?” he said at length, almost timorously. + +“You’re not going to kill him,” she said. “That would only be another +murder, added to . . . to the other. It wouldn’t help the dead. Lord +have mercy on him.” + +“Murder!” ejaculated Gallagher dreamily, as if he had heard the word +for the first time in his life and he were reflecting on its +significance, incredulously like a philosopher confronted unexpectedly +by a stupendous superstition. Then his nostrils expanded and his face +hardened into anger, as he realized her meaning and her attitude +towards the sentence that was about to be passed on Gypo. “Murder, did +you say? Great Scott! Do you call it murder to wipe out a serpent that +has betrayed your brother? Where is your . . . ? Do you call yourself +an Irishwoman? What? Good Lord! I don’t know what to make of it. +What . . . ? Good Heavens!” + +“Listen to me, Dan,” she said, sobbing; “for God’s sake, listen to me +before you do this. Listen. I didn’t know until now how awful it is. I +was foolish the way I talked at home this evening when all the people +were there. I was so mad the way father was talking that I thought I +could shoot the man that informed on Frankie myself. But it would be +murder, Dan, just the same as any other murder. And——” + +“Oh, hang it!” snapped Gallagher. + +“Dan,” she whispered, “don’t do it, for my sake. I love you. Don’t do +it, for my sake and I’ll do anything you want me. I feel I’m the cause +of this.” + +“Mary, do you love me?” whispered Gallagher excitedly, panting as he +seized her right hand in both of his. He bent towards her. “Say it +again. Say you love me.” + +But he drew back immediately, with a strange and unnatural presence of +mind. He was afraid that the passing sentry might see him. + +Tears were rolling down Mary’s cheeks. She looked away towards the +doorway. She kept silent. Gallagher leaned back from her, watching her +face intently. He looked at her from under his bunched eyebrows. His +lips were set firmly. His forehead convulsed. He appeared to be +struggling with a savage passion and at the same time struggling to +think coherently on the intellectual plane. He was trying to probe the +movements of her mind so that he might conquer it with his mind. He +wanted to conquer her mind and make her subject to him, to make her +his mate on his own terms. He told himself that he was doing this, so +that she might help him for the conquest of power. He refused to admit +to himself that he was inspired by passion. He despised passion. + +The silence was very peculiar and tense. Mary was conscious of it. But +Gallagher was not conscious of it. Then Mary spoke. She talked rapidly +without looking at him. She talked in an irritated tone. + +“Take me out of this place immediately, Dan,” she said. “I was mad to +come here with you. I had no business to come here atall. Also, if you +were a gentleman you wouldn’t ask me to come. What I said just now +about loving you was not true. I only said it trying to persuade you +not to murder that man. Before, when I used to read in the papers +about a man being shot, I used to think it was right, but it’s a +different thing when a man you know does a thing like that. Frankie +killed a man too, Lord have mercy on him. Oh, God, have pity on us +all.” She became slightly hysterical. “Why can’t we have peace? Why +must we be killing one another? Why——” + +“Hush! Keep quiet. Keep quiet.” + +“Isn’t it cruel, Dan?” + +She let her head fall on her hands. Her body shook with silent sobs. + +Gallagher stared at her dreamily. + +“I will let her alone now,” he thought. “The logical sequence of this +outburst will be this. Her mind will wheel around to the other extreme +if I keep quiet and don’t irritate her by attempting to convince her +that I am right. Her terror and her moral excitement will exhaust +themselves and go to sleep. Then she will become aware of her strange +surroundings, mentally, in a different way. When her mind becomes +awake and normally acute again, she will see me, this place and what’s +going to be done with Gypo, in an opposite light. When her mind is +groping about in this new attitude it will be easy for me to influence +her. I think I’m right. At least it always held good, that rule. I +remember the struggle I had with Sean Conroy. But women are supposed +to be different from men a lot psychologically. But I have to chance +that. It would be suicidal to interfere with her now. That’s certain. +Still . . . I’m not sure of myself with her somehow. . . . It’s not +like the others. And . . .” + +Again his passion surged upwards. He sat without thought, fighting it, +squeezing his palms together, with his eyes on her bent neck. + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +When Gallagher left the inquiry room, Mulholland went silently to a +form and sat down. The three men stood nervously in front of the table +watching him. They watched him intently, in silence, as if each +movement he made was fraught with grave consequences to themselves. + +He took three matches from a box and placed them beside him on the +form. He handled them slowly and deliberately, with a serious +contemplative expression on his face, like an old fisherman baiting +his hooks under the admiring glances of a party of tourists. Then he +took out a clasp knife and opened it. He cut a piece off one match. He +put the knife back into his pocket. + +Then, suddenly, he cleared his throat with a noise that sounded +enormous in the silence. The three men started. They looked at one +another fearfully, as if each had been caught by the others in the +commission of an indecency. + +Mulholland rose calmly and approached them, holding the three matches +on his open palm. Without speaking he pointed to them. Two long and +one short. They all examined them. Right. Each nodded his head +solemnly. Not a word. Mulholland nodded and marched away to the far +end of the room. They did not follow him now with their eyes. They +stared painfully at the floor. + +The tallest of them was a docker called Peter Hackett. He was a +fair-haired young giant, slim and lean faced, with sleepy blue eyes +and a gentle mouth. His great bony hands were thickly covered with +long white hairs. He stood with his arms folded on his chest, one leg +thrust forward, his eyes wide open and strained, his forehead +wrinkled. He was only twenty-two. This was the first time he had been +chosen for an affair of this sort. It was particularly strange and +odious to him, because he was a good-natured soul, loved by all on the +quays where he worked. He had no conception of politics or of any +problem other than hurling, football, horse racing and pitch and toss, +which he played all Sunday afternoon on the Canal bank with his +cronies. He often lost his whole week’s wages playing pitch and toss. +On these occasions, when he went home to his young wife penniless, he +would first of all dance around the kitchen in a fit of rage and +perhaps break a thing or two, threatening to blow Kitty’s brains out +if she said a word. Then his anger would suddenly evaporate, to be +followed by a fit of sobbing. During this fit he sat by the fire with +his head in his hands, moaning and begging Kitty to forgive him. His +wife always felt exalted when these outbursts occurred, because the +excitement of the quarrel and Peter’s kisses, which lasted far into +the night afterwards, were a welcome break in the dreary monotony of +everyday life as a docker’s wife, scouring, cooking, washing, with two +children to look after on a docker’s wages. + +Peter had no imagination. He lacked the refined conscience and sense +of injustice that attracts most gentle natures like his towards a +revolutionary movement. He was not the stuff of which the other sort +of revolutionary is made either. He belonged to the Organization +simply because the rest of “the boys” belonged to it, and out of +fanatical hero-worship for Commandant Dan Gallagher. + +Dart Flynn, on the other hand, was designed by nature as a +revolutionary, a man to stalk ahead of the bulk of humanity, grimly +destroying obstacles, disturbing the sluggish existence of the herd, +terrifying the contented ones into activity, born with a curse upon +his brow, anathema to the mass of beings who always seek tranquillity +and peace at any price. He was dour, dark visaged, built like the base +of an oak tree, almost square. His body and face were fleshy and +jealous of movement. His eyes were small. They moved horizontally. He +was clean shaven, with a pink and white complexion, in spite of the +fact that he was thirty-five and lived a hard life as a carter. In +company, he hardly ever expressed an opinion on politics, religion, or +on any other of the fundamental things that are discussed with avidity +by revolutionaries who carry their lives in their hands. But in the +secrecy of his own soul he thought deeply on these matters. In his +little bare room in a lodging-house in Capel Street, he had several +works on philosophy and economics. He had also worked out an amazing +system of philosophy, based on the premise that each human being +shares his soul with several different animals. The man who could +discover and have constant intercourse with these animals would be +supremely happy and immortal. + +Flynn had no moral sense. He hated all human beings who were not +Communists. He loved all children and animals. He gave most of his +wages to the hungry little ruffians in the street. He had no relatives +or dependents. He was an old member of the Organization, highly +respected for his courage, his fidelity and his taciturn habits. + +The third man, Laurence Curley, was of a totally different type from +both his companions. He was also the most nervous and timorous. He was +twenty-eight, pale faced, red haired, with a tall, thin frame, +slightly consumptive-looking, on account of his hollow chest and +stooping shoulders. His father had been a doctor in a country +dispensary district. He had received a good education, but he early +grew dissatisfied with life and refused to study for the Bar as his +father wished. Instead he took a job in Dublin as a clerk, in order +that he might plunge into the revolutionary movement. + +The theory of Revolutionary Communism interested him far more than +working for a revolution. He gradually became a crank, hated by +everybody. He was always finding fault and reading or discussing dull +works on Socialism. His views were always the most extreme and +blood-thirsty. He used to whisper excitedly, whenever he met a +stranger who did not know him yet, or when the least industrial +disturbance occurred: + +“The red flag will be hoisted any minute. Wait till you see. Then +blood will spill. Wait till you see. Justice and liberty are bourgeois +watchwords. The proletarian watchwords are revenge and bread. The +proletariat knows how to deal out their deserts to the oppressors.” + +He had always this sort of patter. + +Now, however, the three of them, so different in essential +characteristics, had reached a common level of emotion. The silence of +the night, the phantom-filled cellars, the illegality and danger of +the contemplated act, the torturing uncertainty of the choice, filled +them with such delirious emotions that they were beside themselves. +They were not afraid. They were beyond fear, on to a distant level of +emotion, where the common impulses, that agitate the hearts of men, +are unknown. + +Then Mulholland approached with the matches arranged in his hand, so +that their red heads alone were visible. + +“Who’ll draw first?” he said carelessly, standing in front of the +group. + +After a moment’s pause Flynn came forward hurriedly. He stretched out +a fleshy hand, fumbled awkwardly with the matches and then pulled one. + +They all strained eagerly to look. It was a long match. Everybody +sighed. + +“Next,” said Mulholland. + +Curley and Hackett looked at one another excitedly. Then each spoke. + +“You go first.” + +“No, you go first.” + +“Go ahead. I don’t mind drawing the last.” + +“What’s the difference? You’re nearest. Draw.” + +“Why should I? It’s your turn. You draw.” + +“Come on,” snarled Mulholland, “one of you draw. We have no time.” + +They both made a movement towards the matches. Then each stopped to +let the other advance. Their hands and legs were jerky. They stared at +one another with hatred. + +“Come on,” hissed Mulholland again. “Didn’t ye hear the Commandant’s +orders, that we were to get outa the place as soon as possible? Are ye +afraid or what?” + +“Oh no,” cried both men together in an off-hand tone. + +They both rushed at the matches. They tussled for them. + +“Keep back now. It’s my turn.” + +“Keep back, you. You weren’t so quick before. Let me draw.” + +“No, I won’t. I was here first.” + +“For goodness’ sake,” cried Mulholland, “ye pair o’ babies. Will I +have to pull me gat on ye?” + +The two of them stood still, looking at Mulholland dazedly. + +“It’s against the rules,” continued Mulholland with a great sense of +importance, “but I’m goin’ to call ye in the order o’ yer rank. You +draw first, Comrade Curley.” + +Curley’s thin fingers shot out instantly. He drew the match. It was a +long one. He gasped. Then he burst into a thin laugh. + +“Comrade Hackett.” + +Hackett stumbled forward. He reached for the short match that +Mulholland held out to him with a strange smile. + +“It’s your shot, comrade,” whispered Mulholland. + +Hackett grasped the match and crushed it into fragments immediately. +He threw the little bundle away in terror. He rubbed his palms slowly. +Then he struck his right coat pocket suddenly with his hand. He +laughed. + +“Good Lord!” he blubbered, “I thought I’d lost me penknife.” + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +For ten minutes Gypo lay perfectly still in the cell, after the door +was bolted. He lay on his back. His head and neck were buttressed into +an upright position by a square block of stone that jutted from the +floor, by the wall farthest from the door. His feet were stretched +out, wide apart. One hand lay on his right hip, palm upwards, with the +fingers bent inwards, as if he had fallen asleep clawing something. +The other hand lay across his eyes. He drew very deep breaths at long +intervals. His face was perfectly at peace. It was bruised slightly +around the mouth and on the cheek-bones. Each feature was impassive, +like the features of a carved image. The glossy skin, the humps, the +eyebrows that were like snouts, the thick Ethiopian lips, attained a +majesty during that ten minutes of abnormal rest, a majesty that was +not so apparent while they were in movement, responding to the strange +impulses of his mind. + +Gypo rested, exhausted, while he was being condemned to death. It was +a dead rest, like the rest of a child in the womb before birth, +sucking strength all round for the savage struggle with life that will +soon commence. Every organ and tissue and muscle was straining for a +renewal of strength. + +When blundering reason flees, instinct, that is fundamental and +unerring, rushes to the defence of life. + +At twelve minutes past three, one minute after he had been condemned +to death, Gypo moved. He opened his eyes and closed the right hand +that lay palm upwards on the ground. He clenched the hand rigidly +until the wrist joint snapped with the tension. Then he took the other +hand away from his eyes and dropped it to his bosom. He moved his eyes +around from side to side, slowly, suspiciously, blinking and listening +intently. + +The cell was pitch black. Only at one point was there a speck of +light. There was a dim, oblong patch of light hanging slantwise in the +darkness some distance to his left front. That was the aperture near +the top of the door. It did not penetrate the darkness of the cell. It +merely hung there, obscurely and uselessly, like a foolish suggestion. +All round was pitch dark. Gypo shivered. + +He was not afraid. No. He did not feel at all in the ordinary sense of +the word. But he was immediately fully conscious, as soon as he moved, +of all that had happened before he had been thrown into the cell. +Still more peculiar, he was quite calm and collected about everything. +The darkness consoled him. He felt at home in it. It concealed him. He +felt immensely big and strong in the darkness. There was nothing in +his immediate neighbourhood but a darksome void that his personality +overpowered. He could bellow and his voice would resound through that +darkness indefinitely. There would be no resistance. There was no +limit to the darkness, no wall, no horizon, no end. He was encompassed +by it, sheathed in it. It wound round and round him. It was an +impenetrable coat of mail, without weight, without thickness, +intangible. + +Beyond it somewhere were his enemies. It came between him and them. +Ha! + +He gathered himself up with a sudden spring. He got to his hands and +knees. Several joints snapped as he did so. His bruised body had grown +stiff, lying motionless on the stone floor. Just as he lay that way on +his hands and knees, he heard a rattle at the door. Immediately he +threw himself down again and pretended to be asleep. But he fell so +that his eyes were toward the oblong patch of light. He knew what had +rattled. It was the sentry having a look at him. An electric torch was +thrust through the aperture. It rested on him for a moment or two. +Then it was withdrawn. + +During the couple of moments that the torch-light had flooded the cell +Gypo’s eyes were busy. They had darted around. Yes. The walls were +hopeless. He knew that of course. He had himself guarded a prisoner in +this same cell, a condemned prisoner whom he and McPhillip and Jem +Linnet, the bookmaker’s clerk, had afterwards brought out in a car. He +knew the whole routine. Perhaps that knowledge was responsible for his +calm, partly responsible. Nothing was uncertain in the near future. In +a few minutes they would come for him. Once in the car it would be +impossible to escape. + +All right. His only chance was in the cell. Ha! That was why he was +calm and collected. After all, it was neither the darkness nor his +knowledge of what was destined to happen that made him calm. McPhillip +had at last made a plan. The door . . . the door . . . the door! + +“Gypo,” he had said one night in Cassidy’s when he was drunk, “if we +ever get . . . ye know what I mean, Gyp . . . click . . . you +know . . . ye needn’t worry. I can manage that cell easy. Only I’d +need you. I’m too small. Listen.” + +“I’ll do it, Frankie,” mumbled Gypo to himself excitedly, as he +crawled along the floor towards the door. + +He moved like a bear on his hands and knees, with his head down and +his haunches high in the air. He moved noiselessly until he reached +the door. He felt along the edge of the wall and then drew himself +gradually to his feet. For a moment he toyed with the idea of taking +off his boots, but he could not remember that Frankie had said +anything about that. He decided to leave them on. He reached up with +his hands. He strained them to their full length before he reached the +top of the stone ledge over the door. + +Drawing a deep breath he hoisted up his body, using his biceps as +levers. . . . His biceps swelled and knotted and snapped. . . . His +body rose smartly and without apparent effort. In an amazing way he +swung around his legs from the hips and landed his body gently on the +ledge, resting on the right side of his chest and stomach. The stone +ledge was no more than six inches wide. More than half his body rested +on the empty air, as it lay along the ledge. But he was as cool as if +he were standing loosely on the broad, firm earth. He was acting on +the plan he and McPhillip had rehearsed. His body performed the +movements without his mind exercising any control, either of guidance +or of warning, warning against danger that is called fear. + +After a slight pause, he leaned his weight on his hands and rolled his +body around in a reckless movement. His legs shot into the air about +two feet. He stood poised on his hands for two seconds, as if he were +going to stand on his head. Then he lowered his right leg. He brought +it up to his hands. Slowly, with snapping gasps, he balanced himself +on the right leg and stood up straight. + +He stood straight in the solid darkness for a moment. He breathed +twice rapidly. Then he groped upwards for the roof. He found it about +three inches above his head. He pawed the stones hurriedly, searching. +He couldn’t find what he wanted. It should be there. Mother of Mercy! +He pawed out farther. Nothing yet. Sweat stood out on his forehead, +suddenly, as if his body had been wrung. Savage anger gained control +of him. He bared his lips and distended his eyes. His last hope gone? +Had they taken it away during the last six months? He reached out one +inch farther. Too far. + +With a muffled gasp, he hurtled forward from the ledge. His hands +scraped along the roof with a rasping sound. Then, just as they fell +in pursuit of the falling body, the fingers of the right hand closed +on an iron ring. They closed on it like a vice. The shoulder muscles +snapped. Gypo swung across the floor, brought up with a grunt, jerked +and swung back again, suspended from the iron ring by his right hand. + +When he steadied himself, he changed hands on the ring and groped +about with his right hand, until he found a hole in the roof about +three inches away from the ring. That was the hole of the trap-door, +through which the wine had been let down into the cellar from the +garden. He gripped the ring with both hands and swung up with his +legs, until they found the far side of the hole. He jammed both feet +against the side of the hole and rested for four seconds, breathing +deeply. His knees were bent upwards. + +He reached up into the hole with his right foot. The foot reached the +oaken door that lay across the mouth. It had been fastened with +leather hinges, but these had worn away and they had not been renewed +since the house became deserted. Several inches of earth had collected +on it. Gypo pushed against it and made no impression on this mass of +earth and rubbish that covered it. He took another rest and then +pushed with all his might. He raised it suddenly, with a sucking +sound, about three inches. A mass of dirt and earth fell down with a +swish. It landed on the floor beneath with a showery thud. The noise +terrified Gypo. The sentries outside the door would hear it. + +In a furious rage, he kicked with all his might and sent the door +flying away from the hole. A whole load of earth fell with a rush and +a gust of cold night air came with it, with equal rapidity, +ferociously, as if it had been waiting a long time to attack. + +In spite of the blinding dirt and the freezing air, Gypo stuck his +legs through the hole immediately and clutched the garden surface with +his heels. Then he let go one hand off the ring and gripped the side +of the hole. He hurt his collar-bone badly as he did so. Now his body +was secure in the hole. He let go the other hand, supporting himself +on the thigh muscles that gripped the sides of the hole until the +second hand and his head came into the hole. Then he scrambled through +on to the garden. He bounded to his feet and hurtled forward on his +face. + +Two shots had thundered through the hole as he cleared it. They were +after him. He snorted with fright. For a moment he stood still, +confused by the din of voices and the rushing feet. Then he darted +away headlong through the rubbish towards the house, ten yards away. +His only escape lay that way. He entered the house at a bound, through +a hole in the kitchen wall. He cleared the kitchen in two strides. He +was in the hallway. Flash, flash, bang, bang. Two more shots. His fist +floored a tall man. He rammed a second with his head. He floundered +through the hall. Bang, bang. They whizzed closely past his right +side. He slipped on the flags of the hall as he tried to wheel towards +the right wall. He came to his hands and knees. As he rose again a man +threw himself upon him, firing as he did so, so closely that Gypo +smelt the explosion that flashed blindingly by his ear. Missed again. +They closed, grappling one another’s bodies, with groping, shifting +paws. They tumbled in the doorway. They both rose. Gypo loosed one arm +and struck. The other man collapsed without a sound. Gypo dropped him. +He fell on his back. It was the Dart Flynn. + +Gypo grunted, bounded to his feet and wheeled to the right, into the +open air. With a gurgling laugh, he bounded away into the darkness. He +was away, swallowed by the night. + + + +CHAPTER XV + +When Gallagher heard the first shot, he started to his feet angrily. +He thought that his orders had been disobeyed and that they had shot +the prisoner before taking him to the mountains. But even as he stood +up, his anger changed to terror. He heard the rushing of feet and the +babble of shouting voices, calling excitedly, in a panic: + +“He’s escaped. He’s escaped.” + +“The stairs. The stairs. Up the stairs, quick.” + +Mary McPhillip screamed. Gallagher did not heed her. For three seconds +his body was numbed with fear. He could not move a muscle. His lips +blubbered. He was like an exhausted man about to have a heart attack. +He stood unstably, like an uprooted tree, balancing for its fall. Mary +jumped up and clung to him. He did not look at her. Then Mulholland +rushed in. He was livid with fear. + +“He’s escaped, Commandant,” he gasped; “he’s gone.” + +Then Gallagher shook himself violently, thrusting Mary from him +rudely. Uttering a volley of almost inarticulate oaths, he drew his +pistol and grasped Mulholland by the throat. Mulholland yelled and +struggled downwards to his knees. + +“Don’t shoot me, Commandant,” he whined. “It wasn’t my fault. That man +is a devil out of hell. There’s a spell on him. Don’t fire for the +love of God.” + +“Damn you and God,” snarled Gallagher, hurling him away. + +He rushed out into the hall. + +“After him,” he yelled. “After him. After him.” + +There was nobody to take any notice of him. Everybody was on the +street in pursuit of Gypo, except the sentry, who stood uncertainly in +the doorway of the empty cell, with his pistol in his hand and his cap +turned backwards, terrified, gaping at Gallagher. + +Then a rush of feet came on the stairs. Four men were coming down +carrying Flynn between them. + +“Who is that?” cried Gallagher. + +“It’s Flynn, Commandant,” whispered one. + +“His jaw is broken in a jelly,” whispered another. + +They arrived at the bottom of the stairs. Gallagher glanced at the +prostrate, sagging body of Flynn. “Throw him in there on a form at +once,” he said. “Mulholland. Come here. Where are those others?” + +“Here they come, Commandant.” + +“There’s no sight of him, Commandant,” gasped Tommy Connor, leaping +down the stairs. “We thought we had better come back.” + +“All right,” said Gallagher. “Are you all here now?” + +He spoke in a terribly calm voice now. It was terrifying. Nobody +answered for a moment. + +“Hurry on, Peter,” said Connor to somebody that appeared at the top of +the stairs. + +It was Hackett. He rushed down, panting, with wild eyes. They were all +back again. + +“Who’s responsible for this?” cried Gallagher. + +Nobody answered. He swore and strode away down the passage to the +cell. Connor and Mulholland followed him. The others stood spellbound. +Gallagher pushed the sentry out of the way with a curse and entered +the cell. He flashed his torch. He saw everything. A cold perspiration +started gently around his temples. He shivered. He left the cell +followed by the two men. Nobody spoke. They returned to the men at the +foot of the stairway. As Connor passed the room where Mary McPhillip +was, he ran in, picked her up from the floor and put her sitting on +the form. Then he rushed away to Gallagher. + +Gallagher stood looking at the ground for a few moments, with the men +standing around him in silence. Then he looked around fiercely at +every one. He spoke gently and in a friendly tone. + +“Comrades,” he said, “our lives are at stake. What’s more, +the Organization is in danger. The cause is in danger. +Comrades,—that—man—must—be—found. That man must be found if it costs a +hundred men. Do you understand?” + +“Yes, Commandant,” cried they all eagerly. + +“Finnigan and Murphy stay here on guard. Do you hear?” + +They clicked their heels in silence. + +“Mulholland, you take the rest with you in the van and try and cut him +off from the bridges. He will try and cross the river to the south to +get away to the mountains. Get away immediately. Place your men and +take up position yourself at the Butt Bridge. I’ll send reinforcements +to you there and another officer. Slattery, you get reinforcements. +Mobilize ten men from this district. Take them off your own list. Beat +it. Quick. Off you go, Bartly. Remember the Cause is at stake. We are +lost if that man gets away. He may be making for the police already. +Run for your lives.” + +They went up the stairs, rushing with fanatical enthusiasm. In three +seconds Gallagher was alone at the foot of the stairs. One sentry took +up position at the top of the stairway. The other man went into the +guardroom with Flynn. Mary McPhillip was standing in the doorway of +the witnesses’ room, shivering, almost hysterical with fright. + +Gallagher stood for almost a minute, motionless, looking at the +stairs, with his eyes almost shut. Then he shuddered and went into the +guardroom. The sentry, a red-faced, young grocer’s assistant, was +tying a red silk handkerchief around Flynn’s jaws. The only part of +Flynn’s face that was visible was his eyes. Gallagher watched the +sentry tying the knot at the back of Flynn’s skull. Then he looked +into Flynn’s eyes. + +Flynn stared back coldly. Although he was suffering agonies of pain +from his broken jaw, his eyes betrayed no sign of pain. + +“Did you fire at him, Dart?” cried Gallagher in a whisper. + +Flynn made a slight nodding movement. + +“Did you hit him?” + +Flynn raised his right hand and waved it from side to side, like a +marker giving the signal for a washout. Gallagher sighed. + +“Stick it out,” he said coldly. “We’ll get a doctor as soon as the +reinforcements come. Can you swallow a drop of brandy?” + +Flynn nodded. + +“Here’s my flask. Use it.” + +He put the flask into Flynn’s hand. He pressed the hand as he did so. +Then he left the guardroom and walked over to Mary McPhillip. + +She left the doorway when she saw him coming. He found her sitting on +the form. He stood beside her, looking at the ground, wrapt in +thought, gripping her shoulder with his right hand. She became +terrified at his attitude, at his silence and the look on his face, +which she could see dimly in the gloom. His face had become ashen +pale. His eyes had sunk and grown glassy. The blood had left his lips. +He was continually grinding his back teeth, slowly. + +“Dan,” she whispered at length, “what’s the matter with you?” + +He did not answer for several seconds. Then he started, gasped, and +let go her shoulder. He took two paces rapidly towards the door. He +halted and put his hand to his forehead. He wheeled about and looked +at her curiously. + +“Oh yes,” he said calmly. “I forgot. Excuse me. I was thinking of +something and I didn’t hear what you said. Let me see. Yes.” + +He sat down beside her. He took her right hand gently into both his +own and began to fondle it, with the soft gentle movements of a cat. +He began to speak gently, in a soft, sad voice, looking at the floor +in front of him. + +“You’ll have to stay here with me now, Mary,” he said, “until I’m +leaving here. Maybe we’ll have to stay here two hours, maybe more. +Gypo has escaped. I can’t move until I get news of him. The prisoner +has escaped,” he repeated almost inaudibly. “If he can’t be found it +will be the end of me, Mary. He knows so much.” + +Mary turned towards him eagerly and swallowed her breath. Her eyes +grew moist and her lips quivered. The gentle tone of his voice went +straight to her heart. It drew her towards him, not with the dreadful +fascination with which she was drawn towards him before, but with a +soft, gentle attraction, like what she had imagined love would be. Not +the calm, calculating, respectable affection she experienced for the +man she intended to marry, Joseph Augustine Short, but that +tumultuous, devouring passion which she had expected real love to be, +the love that was written of in books and poems. Ah! How she could +love him like this! Soft and gentle like this! She could approach him +and touch him, touch something in him that was soft and gentle and +sympathetic and human. He was in danger. Good God! It was good that he +was in danger, if it helped to disclose to her his real self. It had +made him weak, this danger, ridding him of the horrid, impenetrable +strength, that kept him cruel and cold. If she could have him to +herself like this, she would sacrifice even her religion for his love. +Aye! She would even forsake God for him like this. + +So she thought, looking at him with tears in her eyes. + +She smoothed his shoulder gently with her hand and whispered to him: + +“Dan,” she said, “you are in danger. Can I help you, Dan? Dan, you +know I’d give my life for you.” + +Gallagher turned towards her slowly. + +“You would, Mary,” he said softly. + +She nodded. He took her suddenly in his arms. + +“You love me, Mary. Say you love me, Mary.” + +“I love you, Dan,” she breathed on his lips. + +They kissed passionately, with strange abandonment. Then they sat for +a minute, with their cheeks together, hardly conscious of anything but +of a strange exaltation that was undefinable. A hot feeling of joyous +exaltation pervaded their bodies. But it was not the exaltation of +love. It was an abandoned sadness born of grief. The grief of two +human souls clinging together for solace. It was beautiful and pure +like love, that exaltation, born of fear, and of the eternal +melancholy of the entramelled Irish soul, struggling in bondage. + +For Mary perhaps, it was almost pure mating love. For she loved that +gentle voice, the last remnant of the gentle nature, that had been +devoured in the struggle of life and replaced by a cold, callous, +ambitious nature. She loved, but she only loved a phantom, a shy ghost +come for an hour of the night, to fly from the dawn. + +But for Gallagher, his caresses were a mask. He had hidden behind his +gentle nature for the moment, as behind a mask, to rest and plot. Men +like him always lean on women for support in moments of extreme +danger. + +Even as he sat with her arms about him, with her breathing words of +love on his lips, he was thinking, not of her, but of the great danger +that confronted him. Would Gypo inform again before he was caught? + +At length, with a low exclamation he got to his feet, releasing +himself hurriedly from her embrace. He clenched his fists. + +“Mary,” he said without looking at her, “you see how I need you. I +need somebody to talk to, somebody to trust. There is nobody else but +you I can trust, Mary. And I don’t know why I trust you.” + +He paused. She was not listening. She was suffering a reaction from +her exaltation. Why was he talking like this? A lover did not talk +like this. He was only thinking of himself. + +“But since the first time I saw you, standing in the crowd with +another girl, while I was addressing a strike meeting, I knew I could +trust you. I remember thinking as I saw your face, that you were the +woman for me. It was queer and I can’t explain it. Something in your +face told me that you were my woman. It’s very queer, that. You see +thousands of faces every day. There is something queer and mysterious +in them all, something suspicious and hostile. Then you see one face +that you have been looking for all your life as it were. There is +nothing hidden or mysterious in that face. It can hold nothing hidden +from you. It’s queer. I haven’t worked it out yet. It’s in the eyes, I +think. The eyes are the doors of the mind. But I haven’t worked it out +yet. But what am I talking about? It’s a sure sign that I’m worried +when I ramble off like this. I talk to myself in my room, for want of +a listener, when I’m up against it. I talk all night, sitting up in +bed, with a pistol in my hand.” He lowered his voice and smiled with +his lips, while his eyes glittered. He looked at her for a moment. “If +the boys knew that I get the wind up now and again, they wouldn’t be +afraid of me. And then. . . .” He drew his hand across his windpipe. +“Sure. That’s what keeps me safe. They are afraid of me. That’s all it +is. It’s not love. Oh no. I wouldn’t have it, anyway. There’s nothing +like fear. Nobody loves me. Not even that slobber of a fellow Hackett, +who stooped down one day on the quays to tie my shoelace. He’d die for +me, but only because he believes I’m cold and hard and callous and +that I could shoot him dead without a quiver of an eyelid. You +see . . . he’s the opposite from . . . There you are, Mary. Good God! +I must be very bad to-night. I’m wandering. Mary, does your right knee +tremble and you can’t stop it?” + +“Dan, Dan,” cried Mary, seizing his right knee in both her hands, +“don’t worry. Don’t worry, Dan.” She began to rub the knee. “That’s +nothing. My father often gets it. It’s only nerve tension. A nurse out +of the Mater Hospital told me all about it. You can live to be a +hundred with it. She says it’s due to tea drinking. But . . . Dan, why +are you so hard and cynical all of a sudden about everything? Can’t +you give it all up and settle down? You said you——” + +“Settle down?” cried Gallagher, jumping to his feet and looking at her +fiercely, as if she had suggested a heinous crime. “Give it up! How do +you mean? Pooh! Women, women, women! You don’t understand that it’s my +life. It’s my life, I say. You might as well tell me stop breathing +and . . . After all . . .” He seemed to think of something startlingly +unexpected, for he looked at her with open lips. He continued, shyly +almost, in a scarcely audible voice, as if he were soliloquizing. +“After all, you weren’t affected the way I expected you would be. You +would never understand. You would never join me in the way . . . Hm! I +see.” + +“Now what have I said, Dan?” she whispered nervously, biting her +fingers. + +She was terrified that she had lost him . . . yes, in a way, strangely +enough, she was terrified at losing his love, as if she had him +securely in her possession, as a loving husband for a long time . . . +that she had lost him by some foolish phrase. + +“Nothing,” he muttered solidly. + +He crossed his hands on his chest and began to pace up and down once +more. It was a long time until he spoke. She tried to get enraged with +him and could not do so. She began to pity herself. + +“It’s waiting like this that’s hard,” he said suddenly in a whisper. +“I don’t mind dying. It’s not that I mind. It’s waiting without a +chance of knowing what’s going to happen. They talk of the bravery of +those louts that get the V.C. What are they but stupid carrot heads? +Theirs is the bravery of the dull-witted ox. A man must be intelligent +to be brave. It’s only the intelligent man that can visualize danger. +If he is brave he never seeks danger, but he seeks dangerous methods +of life. You see the difference? Well, it doesn’t matter anyway. I had +this all worked out a long time ago so I don’t need to discuss it very +much. But this is the point I have to explain now. There is no danger +in open warfare. There’s merely death, and death is not dangerous. The +Russians proved that. Not recently, but in Bielinsky’s time. That is, +of course, they proved it in relation to their own needs. But +according to my own calculations and discoveries, death brings us back +into the great consciousness of the Universe, which is eternal. +Therefore death, properly speaking, is not death. It is a second stage +of birth. No, that’s quite wrong. I can see where that would lead me. +There is neither birth nor death. But . . . All that’s out of the +count. We have to tackle a minor question. Obviously it’s a minor +question. Now that’s better. Now we see death is not a danger. But +defeat is a danger. Defeat by one’s enemies. Not defeat by one’s +friends. But of course there are no friends. Friends is a bourgeois +word. It has no longer any meaning. So defeat in the true sense means +defeat by one’s enemies. It’s synonymous. Well, I face defeat. +Therefore. . . .” Suddenly he waved his right hand in a circular +fashion above his head and then pointed it fiercely at the wall to his +left. “It’s waiting like this that’s hard,” he cried fiercely. “I’ve +been out with a gun many a time. I’ve been shot at. I have two holes +in me. That’s nothing. You don’t know what’s happening because you +become an animal. But waiting is different. You are in command. That’s +different. A brain, a mind, a great eye, probing the unknown. +But . . .” He stopped suddenly and tittered audibly in his throat. + +“Jesus, Mary and Joseph protect me,” Mary began to murmur rapidly to +herself. She shut her eyes and tried to think of Heaven. Her mind had +suddenly become void of all sense of knowledge and emotion. She felt +an intense cold in every pore of her flesh. As she rambled through the +prayer over and over again with her lips, a ridiculous rigmarole of a +song went through her mind with a tintillating sound, about, “Piping +Tim of Galway.” + +He sat down beside her on the form, bent towards her and kissed her +coldly on the forehead. His cold lips remained on her forehead for +three seconds. Then he sighed and got to his feet again. He must keep +in movement. He must keep talking. He could not stop his brain from +thinking at an enormous rate and the only way to relieve the +congestion was by talking aloud. The formation and enunciation of the +words deflected a fraction of the brain forces and liquidated them. +Faster, faster, wilder, wilder he must talk, to keep pace with the +tremendous speed of his heated brain. + +“Where is he now?” he whispered with a kind of cackle in his throat +that was like a laugh. “Where is he now? Why can’t we see with the +mind, long distances? How very stupid I am after all in spite of my +philosophy. He might be in the police station at this very moment, +with a big, fat sergeant taking down his statement.” He shuddered and +bit his lip. “Good Lord Mary! If you only knew what a statement he +could make. Ha! ha! He and Francis are the only two men in the +Organization who could tell anything worth while. And Francis is +dead.” + +He paused. Mary bit her teeth, dispelled the tintillating rigmarole of +a song and began another prayer, one to Our Lady of Perpetual Succour. + +“Ye see, Gypo was so useful. There were things he could do that no +other man could do. Not so much by his immense strength, as on account +of his particular mental qualities. It’s easy to get as strong a man, +but a mind like that is hard to find. I doubt if there is another. He +was priceless. Damn him. He’s a superhuman monster. Why did I say +_was_ before? He is. _He is._ That’s the worst of it. I wish he . . . +The government would give a million pounds for that statement. Good +Lord! I never thought Gypo could turn informer. It must have been a +mistake. I couldn’t be wrong about him. Some mistake. Sure. He isn’t +the type. Sure. I swear he isn’t. How could he be? He responds to me +like, like a needle to a magnet. Then how did he inform? On his own +pal too! That’s the strange thing about it. I’ve been studying him for +eight years and he never showed any signs of personal initiative. +Never once. I shouldn’t have dropped him for six months. But of course +I had to keep up respect for the rules of the Organization. Good +Lord!” he cried pathetically, looking at the ceiling and wringing his +hands almost in despair, “I’m alone with nobody to help me. Mary, +there’s nobody to give me advice. Why did nobody warn me against +expelling Gypo? What?” + +He paused. She did not reply. She shuddered and did not look. It was +difficult to pray. She was so tired. And it was terrifying not to +pray. Then she might have to listen to him. + +Then suddenly she was startled into an upright position, with her eyes +staring and her mouth wide open. Gallagher had uttered a strange +sound. Then he ran crouching to the form. He hurled himself upon it. +He clutched at her knees. He was looking with wild, strained eyes at a +point on the wall. He jabbered in a dry parched voice. + +“There he is, Mary. I see him. I see him. I see the sergeant writing +it down. They are giving him a drink. D’ye see him, Mary, with his +little hat perched at the back of his head, making the statement? D’ye +hear him say my name? D’ye hear him?” + +She drew his head towards her with both hands, trying to make him look +at her face, trying to get his staring eyes away from the wall, but he +struggled against her. His eyes were fixed wildly on some point in the +wall. He writhed. + +Then suddenly he sighed, turned towards her and smiled. It was a +natural, healthy smile. His eyes danced humorously as he smiled. His +terror had passed away, giving place to a momentary joy. He felt +hilarious, like a woman drunk with wine. He took Mary suddenly into +his arms and kissed her. He tickled her neck playfully with his +fingers, laughing all the time. + +But she struggled to free herself, panting. He loosed her and stopped +laughing, looking at her in surprise. + +“Did I frighten you, Mary?” he said casually. “That’s all right. I +often get a fit of the blues like that. Don’t worry. Did you think I +was mad?” he added with a little laugh. + +“Oh, you’re all right now, Dan, ha, ha.” + +She was trying to laugh to cheer herself, but she made a poor job of +it. + +“Sure I am, Mary. As right as rain. Everything will be all right. Of +course it will. Don’t worry.” + +There was a long silence. They sat close together, looking at the +ground. + +“Tell me, Dan,” whispered Mary awkwardly, “did you see anything that +time? When you were looking at the wall? Did you see anything? Tell +me, quick. It’s such a queer place, this. I think there are devils in +it.” + +“Damn it!” snapped Gallagher. “Why did you bring the subject up again, +when I want to forget it? Devils! Huh! Devils!” + +He jumped to his feet and took two paces forward, stretching his hands +out over his head with peculiar intensity, like a man with a rheumatic +twinge in his shoulder blades. Then he shrugged himself and rattled +off with startling suddenness, in a quite calm voice, cheerful and +debonair. + +“You are right,” he said, “after all, in asking the question. I should +have explained at the time,” he yawned, “what I meant by seeing him. +Of course I was speaking figuratively. There are no such things as +devils, at least not supernatural creations, as the current +superstition understands them to be. The only devils to be afraid of +are human devils. I know numbers of them. They are real enough. But +they wear sheep’s clothing. Respectable, law-abiding fellows. I’ll see +them again in a few hours, if Gypo gets to the police station with his +story. They’ll drawl out slowly their sentence on me. Ha! Pretty boys. +And here I am doing nothing while they are . . .” + +He moved rapidly up and down again, clutching his hands behind his +back, jerking his body about and crunching his teeth. + +“I am alone,” he continued. “Alone. I stand alone. They can easily buy +off the rest of the Executive Committee. They’ll be only too glad to +get away free, with their lives, at any cost, if it comes to a fight. +If evidence is found against me, sufficient to prove certain things, +they can strike at me with impunity. My own rank and file would be the +first to stone me to death. Their damn superstitions always stand in +the way of revolutionary beliefs. They talk at International +Head-quarters about romanticism and leftism and all sorts of freak +notions. What do they know about the peculiar type of hog mind that +constitutes an Irish peasant?” + +“How dare you?” cried Mary indignantly. + +He looked at her. Her eyes were flashing. She sat erect on the form. +He had never seen a woman wild and imperious like that. He smiled +weakly. + +“Sorry to hurt your feelings,” he said cynically. “But I’m beyond +that. Pish! I’ve got the whole country in a fine net and I’m within +the law until they find something definite to go upon. I can snap my +fingers at the lot of you.” He grew fierce and arrogant. “You and your +patriotic ideas! I was wrong about you. I don’t want you. I never +wanted you. Do you hear? I snap my fingers at the whole world. That +hulking swine can do his best. I will drain his blood before dawn. +Mark my words. He’ll never reach the police station. My destiny stands +against him. And——” + +Just then the sentry’s challenge rang out. Gallagher immediately stood +stock still and listened. Then he rushed into the passage, drawing his +pistol and muttering something. Two men were hurrying down the stairs. +The first of them came up smartly to Gallagher and clicked his heels. + +He was a small, slight man, with hawk’s eyes and a long, pointed, +curved nose. He wore a loose raincoat and a check cap. He was Billy +Burton, an Insurance Agent, a captain in the Revolutionary +Organization. Gallagher shook hands with him eagerly. + +“Glad they found you in, Billy,” he said. “You’re the very man I +want.” + +He led Burton into the guardroom and rapidly explained the situation. +Then he detailed a plan. He detailed the plan coolly and minutely as +if he had spent weeks at it. + +Burton listened, blinking his little eyes, sniffing, biting his nails, +fondling the butt of his automatic pistol in his breast pocket. + +Over on the form, Flynn was sitting, with his broken jaw swathed in a +red silk handkerchief. He sat impassively, inscrutably communing with +himself. He seemed to be unconscious of his surroundings, with his +mind fixed immutably on some infinite problem. + +The only sounds in the room were the drip, drip of the water from the +many roofs and the patter of Gallagher’s voice. + +His voice was again cold, hard, dominating, vital. + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +At a quarter to four the drizzling rain ceased. A sharp bustling wind +arose. It came screaming down from the mountains upon Dublin. It was a +hard, mountainous wind, a lean, sulky, snowy wind, that rushed through +the sleeping city savagely, so that even the drops of rain on the +muddy sidewalks leaned over before it, with frills on them. + +The clouds arose, their hanging rumps cut away by the newborn wind. +They hung high up in the heavens, gashed and torn, with a sour +expression on their grey, slattern bodies. Here and there a rent came +in the dishevelled panorama of cloud and the sky appeared, blue and +chaste and a long way off. + +This change in the mood of nature occurred when Gypo was bounding away +from the Bogey Hole, trembling shakily with excess of energy. He ran +through a short, narrow lane, so narrow that his shoulders grazed +either side as he dashed through. He crossed a thoroughfare in four +strides, casting a look on either side as he leaped across. He saw a +sloppy roadway on one side, with a watchman’s glowing brazier at the +far end and on the other side a hill. Tall tenement houses lined the +thoroughfare, their battered old walls rambling up towards the sky, +their squalor hidden by the majesty of the night. + +He fled across the road and entered a dark archway. Then he bumped +suddenly against an old cart and went head-over-heels with a smothered +exclamation. The concussion and weight of his body propelled the cart +a distance of three yards on its crazy wheels, with the shafts +scraping along the ground. He struggled to his feet and was about to +rush away again, when a human voice, coming from beneath him, made him +stand still. He looked down fiercely. It was only some homeless +derelict, who used the archway and the cart as a house and a bed. + +“The curse of—” began a cracked, shivering voice. + +Gypo was gone, with a clatter of boots, over the cobblestones of the +archway. He debouched into a wide street of new, red-brick houses. He +gripped a wall and peered around him, panting for breath, wild with +the excitement of his escape. + +It was then that he noticed the wind, the lifting clouds, and the +far-away sky. He smelt the wind as he breathed in great gasps through +his nostrils, to ease the pressure on his heart and lungs. Then +suddenly, he longed for the mountains and the wide undulating plains +and the rocky passes and the swift-flowing rivers, away to the south +in his own country. Freedom and solitude and quiet, with only the wind +coming through the bog heather! Hiding in some rocky fastness of the +mountains, listening to the wind! Away, away, where nobody could catch +him! To the mountains! To the mountains! Dark blue mountains with +bulging sides and little sheep roaming over them, that he could catch +and kill! + +A wild ferocity of joy overcame him. He stared with dilated nostrils +ahead into the rim of the sky above the houses, towards the south. He +gazed, as if he were measuring the distance between him and the +mountains, so as to take a giant leap, that would carry him at once +into the heart of their solitude. + +Then he bent down, looking ahead intently. He spat on his hands. He +put his hand to his head to settle his hat. But his hat was not there. +His skull was bare and damp. He felt all over it and found a patch of +clotted blood at the rear base, where it had been kicked during the +struggle in the inquiry room. He took no notice of the blood, but kept +feeling all over the skull, with a dazed look in his eyes, muttering: + +“What am I to do without a hat? I had it this two years.” + +In the same dazed way he felt all over his body. He uttered a little +shout. He had found it in his trousers pocket, where he had stuffed +it, during the inquiry, when he heard that ominous ring in Gallagher’s +voice. He clapped it on to his skull, all wrinkled and tattered and +tiny. He beat it with his palms, as if it were a mattress. Then, with +a gentle sigh, he darted away, headed due south for the mountains. + +He ran recklessly, without thinking of the way, or taking any +precautions. It was the slum district which he knew so well, the +district that enclosed Titt Street, the brothels, the Bogey Hole, +tenement houses, churches, pawnshops, public-houses, ruins, filth, +crime, beautiful women, resplendent idealism in damp cellars, saints +starving in garrets, the most lurid examples of debauchery and vice, +all living thigh to thigh, breast to breast, in that fœtid morass on +the north bank of the Liffey. He ran through narrow streets and great, +wide, yawning streets, lanes and archways, streets patched and +buttressed, with banks of earth from fallen houses almost damming them +in places, pavements strewn with offal, soddened by the rain. + +He never made a mistake. He was headed for the mountains. The smell of +the mountains was in his nostrils, flooding his lungs, making his +heart pant with longing. + +At last he entered Beresford Place and saw the river. Instinctively he +paused, leaning against a wall, to examine the Bridge. He gasped and +trembled. + +Two men were standing at the near side of the Butt Bridge. They had +already forestalled him. He listened. He toyed with a last hope. He +moved cautiously across the open space, to reach the shelter of the +ruins of the Custom House. He reached it. He peered closer at the men. +They were still indistinct. After all, they might be robbers, workmen, +homeless fellows trying to pass the night, students coming from the +brothels and having a last drunken argument on their way home. He +crawled nearer. Then his little eyes blinked and narrowed. + +One of the men crouched against the biting wind. Gypo recognized the +crouching figure silhouetted against the sky. It was Mulholland. And +the other man, standing stiff, with his hands in his pockets, was +Peter Hackett. + +Gypo’s head became hot and stuffy. His eyes closed, as a sudden pain +struck him in the forehead. He had an impulse to rush forward at the +two men and strangle them. But he did not move. He was not afraid of +the two of them, in spite of their being armed. He did not fear their +guns. But they were part of the Organization. The Organization was at +the Bridge. It had got there before him. He could not pass. +Gallagher’s cold, glassy eyes were on the Bridge. He could not pass. + +The smell of the mountains left his lungs and his nostrils. The wind +still blew about his crouching body. But it had lost its odour. Now it +was only sharp and biting, an enemy that drove him backwards, skulking +and dumbfounded. Where was it driving him? Where was it driving him? + +He crouched away before it, without taking counsel with himself, with +his head hanging limply on his breast. He crouched across the open +space and entered a roadway that led northwards. There was nothing +within him with which he could take counsel. Within him he was blank +and dark, like a bottomless abyss filled with thick fog. His hulking +figure was driven by the wind to some boundless region where there was +no shelter. He was driven by the wind to some boundless region where +everything was coloured a dim grey, amorphous, terrible. + +The vision of an abyss, grey, without shape, swayed before his eyes as +he strode northwards, moving uncertainly, staggering slightly, without +guidance. His footsteps became slower. He came to a halt and looked +about him curiously. He was under a railway bridge that crossed the +street sideways over his head, encased in a black covering. A little +dark laneway opened to his right. He walked three paces up the laneway +and leaned his shoulder against the damp wall. + +There was shelter there. The wind did not come in. Only an odd gust +swivelled around the corner and stirred the damp, musty air for a +dying moment. It was quiet and dark, like the interior of a cave. He +sighed. + +Gradually he grew composed. He grew calm and very weary. He wanted to +lie down and go to sleep for a long, long time. There was no use +struggling any farther. He was alone. The darkness of the night +enveloped him. + +“There’s nobody here,” he murmured aloud. + +The ground was a puddle. The walls were blank. He felt with his feet, +seeking a dry spot to lie down. Everywhere his boot sank into a +puddle. He cursed and moved on a pace. He felt again with his feet. +Still more puddles. He moved along still farther and tried again. No +use. Then he began to walk along mechanically, feeling the ground at +intervals. Then he kept walking slowly without feeling the ground. He +had forgotten about lying down. + +He came to the end of the lane and saw a wide street in front of him. +He halted excitedly. + +“Where am I going?” he cried aloud. + +He started at the sound of his voice and peered suspiciously over his +shoulder. Of course there was nobody there. Then he steadied himself +and tried to think of where he was and what had happened. It was a +terrific struggle. + +Slowly he began to remember recent events. Fact after fact came +prowling into his brain. Soon the whole series of events stood piled +there in a crazy heap. Everything rushed towards that heap with +increasing rapidity, but nothing could be abstracted from it. It was +just as if the facts were sinking in a puddle and disappearing. It was +utterly impossible for him to reason out a plan of action. + +“I must make a plan,” he murmured aloud. + +In answer to this exhortation came a vision of Gallagher’s glittering +eyes. They fascinated him. He forgot about a plan. A horde of things +crashed together in his brain making an infernal buzz. He lost control +of himself and ran about under the archway, striking out with his +hands and feet madly, trying to fight the cargo of things that were +jammed together in his brain. It was that insensate rage that +overcomes strong men at times, when they have nothing upon which to +vent their fury, no physical opponent. + +He worked madly at this curious exercise for fully five minutes. Then +he stopped, with perspiration streaming from his forehead. He felt +better. His head was clear. He was again conscious of a grim +determination to escape, to outwit those fellows who were on the +Bridge. An idea that he thought amazingly cunning occurred to him, an +idea to escape towards the south, by making a wide detour towards the +north, up by the North Circular Road to Phœnix Park, then westwards +through the Park, then southwards again by Dolphin’s Barn. He was +toying with the route pleasantly when he was suddenly interrupted by a +sound of feet. + +Trup, trap, trup, trap . . . came the sound of heavy feet coming down +the street in front of him. Two policemen on their beat were coming +along slowly, rattling door chains as they came. Gypo’s heart began to +beat with terror. He thought they were looking for him. In his +bewilderment he could not understand that he was now under police +protection, an informer. He forgot that he had only to rush up to them +and say that the Revolutionary Organization had condemned him to death +and were now tracking him, in order to be taken to a police barracks, +into safety. On the contrary, he still regarded them as his enemies. +His mentality had not yet accustomed itself to the change that his +going in the police-station that evening had wrought in his condition. +To his understanding he was still a revolutionary. He was not at all +conscious of being an informer, or a friend of law and order, a +protégé of the police. + +He bolted headlong out of the laneway and clattered away across the +street. He wheeled to the right, ran ten yards and then dived into +another lane. He continued his flight without stopping. He ran without +purpose, without guidance, driven northwards by panic and the +impossibility of thought. He ran headlong in all directions, into a +street, down its course, then to the left, back again in a parallel +line, down once more the street he had left, passing several times the +same corner in his mad flight. He ran desperately, as if he were +chasing some elusive sprite that delighted in turning on its own +tracks. He floundered through pools. He struggled on his hands and +knees over waste plots. He crushed violently through holes in torn +walls. He climbed over piles of bricks, over walls, jumped into +backyards and then climbed back again into another street. He was +scratched, covered with mud, dripping wet. His eyes were bloodshot. + +Then suddenly a clock struck the half-hour close by him. It was +half-past four. He stopped dead, attracted by the tolling of the +clock. It was not the sound but the remembrance it brought. He knew +that clock. It was near Katie Fox’s house where he used to sleep. He +stood in the middle of a narrow lane, with his legs wide apart and his +chest and shoulders thrust forward listening to it. His lips were +opened wide. + +He stood, like an uncouth, half-formed thing, alone in the half-grey +shadows of the night, wondering at strange things. + +“It’s two turns from here,” he murmured, “first to the left, then to +the right. She should be in be now. That must be three or four +o’clock.” + +Now he moved carefully, listening for sounds and planting his feet +lightly, close to the side of the lane. He turned to the left, went +down fifty yards and then turned to the right. He entered a kind of +circular square, a crescent, with a church standing in the middle. He +moved around the crescent until he reached the other side of the +church. There, at the corner of a little cul-de-sac, was the house in +which Katie Fox had a room, about fifteen yards away from the church. + +All the houses in the little square were tenement houses, old, dusty +and grey, tattered, sordid, with broken panes in their windows. Nearly +all the street doors were ajar. There was nothing to steal within. + +Gypo deferentially tipped his hat to the church as he passed it. He +entered the doorway of Katie Fox’s house. The hallway was pitch black. +He stood for a few moments peering around in the darkness. Then he saw +a night-light on the first landing. He recognized it as the light +placed there every evening by Mrs. Delaney, who had become a religious +maniac since her son was killed in the revolution of 1916. He had been +killed while he was running along the streets, wounded, crying out for +shelter. + +“If he ever comes home at night,” whispered Mrs. Delaney +confidentially to everybody, “he’ll see the light burnin’ an’ he’ll +know I’m in. God is good to His own people an’ He’ll look after me +Johnny.” + +Gypo felt comforted at seeing the night-light. He moved noiselessly up +the stairs until he reached it. When he was passing it, rounding the +angle of the stairs, he paused, with his hand on the wooden banister +and looked at it. For some reason or other he tiptoed towards it, +leaned out when he was within two feet of it, and blew it out. Then he +started and looked about him wildly. It was pitch dark again. + +“That’s better,” he said with a little sigh. + +He mounted the stairs steadily. They remained good until he reached +the third floor. Then he had to move up a narrow, rickety, broken +stairs to the top floor, where Katie Fox had a room. He made an awful +noise, but it disturbed nobody. He heard a child crying when he got +near the top of the stairs. The child belonged to Tim Flanagan, an +unemployed man, who occupied the opposite room to Katie Fox on the top +landing. He lived there with his wife and three children. The baby had +the measles and the other two children were awake. One child was +laughing. Gypo could distinguish Flanagan’s weak, timorous voice, +trying to soothe the children. + +Gypo stood outside the door to the left, Katie Fox’s door. He +listened. A shaft of light streamed through the keyhole and through a +large, round hole in the bottom of the door. A large piece of the door +had been gnawed away by a stray dog that Katie Fox brought home one +night. He bit his way out of the room as soon as he got a meal. Gypo +listened. Katie Fox was talking within. Gypo knocked. + +“Who’s that?” + +“It’s only me, Katie. Open the door.” + +“Mother o’ Mercy,” she screeched, “it’s his ghost. It’s his ghost, +Louisa. Louisa, will ye hide me somewhere, for God’s sake!” + +“Ghost yer gran’mother,” came a cracked, old voice. “Get up an’ open +the door will ye, till we see what he wants.” + +“No, no—” began Katie’s voice again. + +Gypo put his shoulder to the door, burst the piece of string that +fastened it on the inside to a nail in the wall, and flung the door +open wide. He stalked into the room. + +At first the whole room appeared to be a blue bank of fog. Then the +blue mist dissipated gradually. The room assumed proportions. Things +swam out of the mist towards him gracefully, in the order of their +importance. First came the lamp. It was placed on the black, wooden +mantelpiece over the fireplace. It was an ordinary tin paraffin lamp, +painted red. The chimney was three-parts black. Next came the +fireplace. There was a huge, open grate, with a turf fire burning in +it. The fire was more like the remains of a funeral pyre, because the +ashes had accumulated for weeks. The flaming peat sods lay stretched +like fallen logs on the top of the great pile of yellow ashes. Next +came the bed, with Louisa Cummins lying in one corner of it. + +The bed was so huge that it might be mistaken for anything were it not +supported by four thick wooden posts and had a canopy over it, at the +head, after the fashion of those beds that are called in Irish country +places “Archbishops’ Beds.” The bed-clothes were indescribable. +Everything was pitched on to the bed and everything stayed there. +Louisa Cummins lived in the bed most of the day. She had done so for +eight years, since she became “bedridden” as the result of “injuries” +received from the police, one night she was arrested on a charge of +trafficking in immorality. She was quite strong and healthy. She did +all her work in bed. The blankets were gathered about her bulky person +in the far corner, near the wall. In the other corner, Katie Fox’s +corner, there was a couple or so of tattered blankets. The foot of the +bed was heaped with junk of all sorts, from a notched mug, out of +which the old lady drank her tea, to a statue of Saint Joseph that +hung on the bed-post, suspended from a thick nail by a rough, knotted +cord. The cord was around the statue’s neck, in a noose. The statue +was not suspended there out of crude respect, as might be supposed. It +was hung there as a blasphemous protest against the incompetence of +the saint. Four years before she had made a Novena to Saint Joseph, +requesting a cure for muscular rheumatism, and because her request was +not granted she hung up the statue by the neck. + +When Gypo’s eyes found her through the fog, she was hidden to the chin +beneath a pile of blankets and clothes of all sorts, up against the +wall. She lay on her side, with her white, shrivelled head ensconced +in a grey pillow, that had no case to cover it. The feathers protruded +from the pillow. The old woman’s white hair was strewn about the +pillow and the bed-clothes, like strands of seaweed floating on the +surface of a shallow sea at low tide. Her mouth was wide open, in an +ogreish fashion, displaying red gums and four yellow teeth, cropping +up at unequal distances along her jaws; four, crooked, yellow fangs. + +Her eyes alone showed life and intelligence. They were small, fierce, +blue eyes, blazing with cunning and avarice. + +Her body, hidden beneath the clothes, resembled a mountain that had +been reduced to a shapeless pulp by concussion. + +Gypo surveyed her without any emotion. Then he looked around for +Katie. He saw her standing in the corner behind the door. She was +still dressed as he had met her in the public-house early in the +evening. But her dress had become dishevelled. Her face had changed. +It had changed in a strange manner. It had lost the careworn, pinched +expression. Her eyes were no longer tired. Her face was flushed and +full. The skin was loose. The mouth was firm, with a voluptuous +softness in the lips. Her eyes flashed bright. They had the calm +aggressiveness of healthy, energetic women, who are passing from one +success to another, the calm, aggressive flash of satisfied desire and +of vaulting ambition. While, in spite of all that, her hands, +clutching her throat, trembled in apparent terror, in contradiction to +the repose and vitality of her face. Her feet, too, danced +spasmodically. + +“What’s the matter with ye, Katie?” said Gypo. “What’s that ye were +sayin’ about me ghost?” + +He spoke in a hoarse, morose whisper. + +“God!” exclaimed Katie. + +She took her hands away from her throat and clasped them behind her +back, with the movement of one offered an objectionable thing. Then +she fled to the fire at great speed. She leaned her back against the +wall to the right of the fireplace and gaped at Gypo. She motioned to +him with her head. + +“Shut that door,” she said in a whisper. “Shut the door and come in.” + +Gypo turned to the door silently and began to tie the two pieces of +broken string to fasten it once more. + +“Where have ye ben?” she whispered. “O, Lord! Ye put the heart +crosswise in me.” + +Gypo tied the door and stalked slowly and quietly to the hearth. He +stood still, glanced towards the old woman and then looked with open +lips at Katie. + +“They’re after me, Katie,” he muttered with a shudder. + +There was a silence. Gypo shuddered again and sat down in front of the +fire. He sat on the floor, with his elbows resting on his knees, +stretching out his hands to the blaze. + +Katie looked at him with glittering eyes. She stood against the wall, +motionless. Her face had very white beneath her crumpled red hat. Her +eyes glittered. Her upper lip was gathered together, frilled. + +The old woman in the bed glanced from Gypo to Katie and from Katie to +Gypo. Her eyes danced with merriment. She kept cuddling herself, as if +in an ecstasy of enjoyment. + +“What are ye talkin’ about?” said Katie at length. + +“Th’ Organization is after me,” he muttered without looking at her. +“Commandant Gallagher is goin’ to plug me. I escaped outa the cell in +the Bogey Hole.” + +“What are they goin’ to plug ye for? In the name o’ goodness, what are +they goin’ to plug ye for?” + +Katie Fox’s voice was cold and passionless, but Gypo did not notice. +She had a queer, thin smile on her lips, but Gypo did not look at her +face. She had a flashing light in her eyes as she spoke, but Gypo had +not seen it. He was staring dreamily into the fire. He was tired out +and sleepy. There was no use keeping watch any longer. He was tired, +tired, tired. Tired and sleepy. What was the use of keeping watch any +longer? Sleep, sleep, sleep. Then he would go straight to the south. +He would rush to the south with the wind, through all obstacles. +Sleep, sleep, sleep. + +“It doesn’t matter what they’re after me for,” he muttered. + +There was another silence. + +Sleep, sleep, sleep. + +“They want to get me outa their way,” he mumbled again. “But they’re +not goin’ to get me. Katie, I’m goin’ to flop here for the night. I’ll +stay till to-morrow night. Then I’m going south. Here’s all the money +I have.” + +He rummaged in his trousers pocket and brought out on his palm four +shillings and sixpence. He handed it to her. She approached and held +out her right hand for it, with a mincing movement. + +“Gimme that money. Gimme that money,” screamed the old woman from the +bed. She struggled to sit up. + +“You shut up, Louisa,” growled Gypo, half turning towards her across +his shoulder. “Shut up or I’ll flatten ye.” + +The old woman collapsed, grinning. Then she caught up a stick that lay +beside her in the bed. She shook the stick at Katie Fox. + +“She robs me, she robs me,” she wailed, in a thin, cracked voice. + +“I’ll sleep here on the floor, Katie,” said Gypo. “Hey, Katie. I’ll +sleep here in front o’ the fire. Katie, what’s the matter with ye? Why +don’t ye talk to me?” Katie burst into laughter. She had sat down on a +low stool to the left of the fire on receiving the money. Now she +jumped to her feet and laughed. It was a queer, dry laugh. There was a +dreamy look in her eyes. She looked at the floor, wrapped in thought. + +“Are ye drunk or what’s the matter with ye?” grumbled Gypo. + +“There’s nothin’ at all the matter with me,” murmured Katie dreamily, +still looking at the floor. + +Then she drew in a deep breath and shrugged herself. She became alive +and energetic again, wide awake, with piercing eyes. She began to talk +at an amazing speed, with her arms crossed on her breasts. + +“Sure, Gypo,” she said in a loud, hilarious voice, “ye can sleep here +till the crack o’ doom if ye like. Sure enough, Connemara Maggie tole +me about Bartly Mulholland comin’ lookin’ for ye. She came into Biddy +Burke’s as drunk as a lord, an’ she outs with a yarn about Bartly +puttin’ a gun to ye’ head an’ drivin’ ye up the street in front o’ +him.” + +“Yer a liar, she didn’t,” growled Gypo, starting slightly. + +“Maybe she didn’t say that exactly,” continued Katie, “but——” + +“Did she give ye a quid I gave her to give ye?” + +“A quid? Did ye give her a quid for me? Well, of all the liars! Well, +of all the robbers! Of all the dirty sons of pock-faced tailors! She +takes the cooked biscuit. Troth then, she only gev me ten bob an’ I +had to fight her for that. O’ course I’m sayin’ nothin’ about things I +might say a lot about, but——” + +“Oh! less o’ yer gab,” growled Gypo, feeling behind him on the floor +with his hand. “I’m not in humour for yer gab, Katie.” + +“Don’t lie on the floor,” she cried solicitously. “Get into the bed. +Lie in my corner. Don’t mind, Louisa. The corner is mine. I can let +who I like int’ it. Louisa, if ye don’t lie still I’ll lave ye for +dead as sure as Our Lord was crucified. So I will. Well what could ye +expect? An’ I’m sayin’ nothin’ now, Gypo, seein’ the position yer in, +but it’s the price o’ ye all the same. I hope ye don’t mind me +speakin’ me mind out. It’s the price o’ ye for lavin’ them that were +kind to ye, an’ throwin’ yer money away on a strap like that. But sure +me poor mother used to say, Lord have mercy on her——” + +“Get outa here, get outa here,” screamed the old woman, waving her +stick. + +Gypo had thrown himself on the bed on his back. The old lady began to +beat him feebly about the body with her stick. He took no notice of +her. He fumbled with the heap of tattered blankets, arranging them +about his legs. + +Katie Fox caught up the tongs and approached the bed sideways, making +furtive signs to the old woman, urging her secretly to keep quiet. + +The old woman subsided, muttering something. Katie went back to the +fire and put down the tongs. She continued to talk. She was rapidly +becoming more excited. Her eyes had now a look of insanity in them. +Her lips were constantly becoming wreathed with smiles, after the +manner of a lunatic who is thinking of some demoniac buffoonery in his +muddled brain. + +“Though few people know it,” she cried arrogantly, looking at the +door, while she put a cigarette in her mouth, “me poor mother was a +born lady. Put that in yer pipe, Louisa Cummins, and try an’ smoke it. +Yev given me dog’s abuse since I came into yer rotten pigsty of a +room, but still an’ all ye know yer not fit to wipe me shoes. So I +don’t give a damn.” + +“Yerra, d’ye hear her, d’ye hear her?” croaked Louisa Cummins. + +She began to laugh, making a noise in her throat like a hen, that +quaint, cunning, querulous sound, that a hen makes at night, when +disturbed during her roosting hours. + +Gypo had arranged the clothes to his satisfaction. The blankets +covered his body up to his chest. His eyes began to close. His little, +round hat still remained on his head, crushed down over his forehead. +There was a continual murmur in his brain. The sounds, the talk, the +smells about him no longer had any meaning. + +Sleep, sleep, sleep. + +Danger, fear, everything was forgotten, but his desire to sleep. + +Sleep, sleep, sleep. + +“Yerrah, is it an informer I’m lyin’ beside?” screamed the old woman +again, trying to rise with fury. “Get out, get out. There’s blood on +yer hands. There’s——” + +“Lie down or I’ll brain ye,” hissed Katie, rushing once more to the +bed. + +With a weary sigh Gypo stretched out his left hand and dropped it +across the body of the old woman. She subsided under the weight of the +massive hand. It lay across her, relaxed and tired. She peered at it +curiously, around the edge of her blankets. Maybe she peered at it in +terror. Who knows what emotions were concealed behind that hideous +skull? + +Gypo did not look at her. His eyes were almost closed. His nostrils +were expanding and contracting noiselessly. + +Sleep, sleep, sleep. + +Then a mad rush to the mountains. + +Sleep, sleep, sleep. + +“Blast it for a story,” cried Katie Fox, stamping on the floor. + +She walked to the middle of the floor. Then she folded her arms and +stood with her legs wide apart and her chest thrown out, gazing at the +dim wall with glittering eyes. She threw back her head and laughed. + +“Amn’t I the fool?” she cried. “Oh! amn’t I the fool? Me that could +walk with the finest men in the land! Do ye know that me gran’father +was the Duke o’ Clonliffey? Do ye know that? An’ me mother was related +to royalty on her father’s side. Not to the King of England either, +but to me bould King o’ Spain, where they grow oranges an’ ye can +drink wine out of a well like water from the Shannon. Sure it’s there +where I was born an’ reared, in a palace as big as the County +Waterford, with archbishops waitin’ at table on me, with red napkins +on their arms, an’ a rale lady——” + +“Yerrah, will ye hould yer whist,” piped the old woman. + +She tried to brandish her stick and to disengage herself from the hand +that lay on top of her. But the hand stiffened for a moment. She was +pressed down beneath it. Then the hand relaxed again. + +Sleep, sleep, sleep. + +Gypo’s eyes opened wide for a moment. Then he closed them. Everything +in his mind became a blur. Nightmares stood massed in his brain ready +to rush in on the platform of his sleeping mind and carry on their mad +acting, as soon as his being soared off, bound in sleep. He had +already surrendered to these nightmares. + +Sleep, sleep, sleep. + +Katie Fox looked at him cunningly for a moment. Her face hardened and +her eyes narrowed to points. Then she glanced away again, towards the +wall. Her lower lip dropped. Her eyes distended. She puffed twice at +her cigarette. She began to talk again. + +“I could tell ye stories about them all, Gypo,” she cried, waving her +arm wildly in Gypo’s direction. “I could tell ye, so I could, but +what’s the use of tellin’? Wha’? What’s the use of anythin’? An’ Fr. +Conroy refused to give me absolution. Well, he can go to hell. I can +get along without his absolution. I’m not afraid o’ hell. Oh, Mother +o’ Mercy!” she cried, suddenly crossing herself; “what have I said? +What——” + +“Ha! Cross yersel’, cross yersel’,” croaked Louisa Cummins. “But it’s +no good to ye. Down ye’ll go. Down ye’ll go. Ha, ha, ha!” + +“There’s a curse on me family, Louisa, since me second cousin the +Duchess of . . . of . . . of . . . where is that place she was Duchess +of? . . . I forget it, although I was there often with me mother. It’s +somewhere out be Killiney. Well, she put a curse on me family anyway. +She used to have thirteen monkeys sittin’ at the breakfast table with +her.” + +“Yer a liar, yer a liar,” cried the old woman in a sudden fury. “She +couldn’t have thirteen monkeys. She couldn’t have thirteen. It’s them +drugs yer takin’ that’s gone to yer head. Thirteen! Foo!” + +Gypo mumbled something in a tremendous whisper. Both women looked at +him. His lips were moving, but the words were unintelligible. His +massive chest heaved up to an enormous extent and collapsed again +slowly, with a great outrush of breath from the nostrils. His tawny +face stood out impassively in the glimmer of the firelight. It looked +sorrowful and oppressed. + +Sleep, sleep, sleep. + +He was wafted away by heavy gusts of sleep, to the thunderous music of +fantastic nightmares. Primeval memories assumed form in the clouds of +sleep that pressed down about him. They assumed form and shape, the +shape of the beings that pursued him. + +Sleep, sleep, sleep. + +His strength was becoming unbound, dissolved in sleep, loosened out +and swaying limply on vapours of sleep. + +Sleep, sleep, sleep. + +“D’ye know what I’m goin’ to tell ye, Louisa?” continued Katie in a +low, hushed voice. “When I’m dead they’re goin’ to canonize me. Then +I’ll have a holy well out on the Malahide Road, an’ I’ll put a spell +on everybody I don’t like, an’ make them get up in the middle o’ the +night, an’ walk out barefoot to the well, to drink three cupfuls o’ +the holy water. An’ never knowin’ that I’ll have it poisoned. This is +a queer world, Louisa, an’ ye’ll soon be out of it, ’cos yer——” + +“Sorra a fear o’ me,” croaked the old woman. “I’ll dance on yer grave. +Ye little rip o’ divilment. Yer not the first nor the fifth that has +come into me house this ten years an’ gone the same road. No yer not. +An’ ye won’t be the last. Oho! Ye all got pretty faces. Ye all get the +fine strong men to kiss ye. But old, dirty-faced Louisa Cummins ’ll +dance on yer graves. She dances on yer graves. So she does. Now what +are ye doin’ with him? Are ye puttin’ yer evil spell on him? Informer +an’ all that he is, I’ll not let ye put yer evil spell on him. I’ll +not let ye do that. Go away from the bed.” + +Katie had come to the bed and had bent down with her left ear to +Gypo’s face, listening to his breathing. She raised her face to look +at the old woman. + +“He’s dead asleep,” she whispered with a smile. + +“Well? Is that queer?” + +“Don’t wake him while I’m gone, Louisa.” + +“Where are ye goin’?” + +“Mind yer own business, Louisa. I’m givin’ ye warnin’.” + +“Is it to the polis yer goin’?” + +“Don’t talk so loud. It’s not to the polis I’m goin’. I’m just goin’ +out.” + +“Ha! Yer goin’ to inform on him ye rip o’ divilment. Yer goin’ to +inform on him.” + +“It’s nothin’ o’ the kind. Isn’t he an informer? Don’t make a noise. +Don’t waken him or they’ll fill ye full o’ lead when they come. I’m +givin’ ye this warnin’. Shut up.” + +She moved backwards to the door, with her hand held out threateningly +towards the old woman. The old woman looked after her. Her mouth was +wide open. Her eyes roamed about. Then Katie disappeared out the door. +Her shoes went tapping down the stairs. The banisters creaked. The +room was still, except for Gypo’s heavy breathing. + +The old woman remained motionless for several seconds, looking towards +the door. Then she groped for her stick and tried to rouse Gypo with +it. But Gypo’s arm still lay across her body holding it down. In his +sleep it stiffened and held her down. She peered at it and frowned. +She dropped the stick and smiled. + +“Ha!” she gurgled, “she’s gone to inform on ye, me fine boyo. They’ll +soon be here after ye. Trust a woman, trust a devil. She’ll be the +ruin o’ ye, me bould warrior. An’ many’s the fine strappin’ woman from +yer own country would give her two eyes for a night with ye. An’ here +ye lie, asleep an’ weak, with the weariness o’ death on ye. Ha! The +divil mend the lot o’ ye. Ha! There ye are now. Ha! There ye are now +an’ be damned to ye. Ha! Ha!” + +Sleep, sleep, sleep. + +Sleep and strange dreams. + + + +CHAPTER XVII + +At sixteen minutes to six, Mulholland rushed down the stairs into the +Bogey Hole, shouting in a hushed whisper all the way: + +“Commandant, Commandant, we have him, we have him!” + +Gallagher rushed to the stairway. He found Mulholland grasping the +wall with one hand, with his cap in the other hand, panting, with +perspiration rolling down his cheeks in drops. + +“It was Katie Fox,” he gasped. “She came runnin’ down Mount William +Road: Charlie Carrol headed her off. She tole him Gypo was up in her +room, in bed. No. 61 Mount William Crescent. Captain Burton has got +the house surrounded. He sent me up for orders.” + +“Katie Fox?” said Gallagher. “I thought she was——” + +“She’s mad with dope.” + +“I see. Double back and tell Burton I’ll be down immediately. Don’t +move till I arrive.” + +“All right, Commandant.” + +Mulholland raced up the stairs again. Gallagher rushed back to the +witnesses’ room. Mary McPhillip had fallen into a doze. He roused her. + +“Come on, Mary,” he whispered. “We are going now. We found him.” + +“Who? What? Jesus, Mary and Joseph! Who did you find?” + +“The informer. Gypo Nolan. We found him at 61 Mount William Crescent. +I am going there now. Come along. Then I’ll leave you home.” + +She was waking up gradually, frightened and rubbing her eyes. +Gallagher fidgeted excitedly, trying to get her to her feet. + +“What time is it?” she asked. + +“A quarter to six.” + +“Heavens above! Mother will be gone to Mass before I get home.” + +“What does it matter?” + +“Of course it matters. I was to have gone with her this morning. For +Frankie.” + +“Where does she go to Mass?” + +“Mount William Crescent.” + +“Well, we’re going there, too. You can go into the chapel and meet her +there.” + +“Why? What’s at Mount William Crescent?” + +She was fully awake now and had got to her feet, wild eyed. + +Gallagher got angry and swore. He stamped his feet. + +“Come on quickly. I have no time. I tell you the informer has been +found. He is at Mount William Crescent. I’m going down there. Come +along.” + +“You’re going to murder him,” she gasped, with her bosom heaving. + +“Murder be damned!” cried Gallagher. “We’re going to wipe him out.” + +“You’re a beast. You’re not going to murder him, not while I can +prevent it.” + +She rushed from the room. With a fierce oath he rushed after her. He +caught her at the foot of the stairs. The sentries rushed up. She kept +screaming and striking out with her clawing hands. + +“Keep her here,” he hissed. “Don’t let her out on any account for an +hour. Then let her off and get home. Good-bye.” He looked fiercely +into Mary’s eyes. His face was ashen with rage. “We spare neither man +nor woman. Remember that.” + +Then he rushed up the stairs. + +“Murderer, murderer,” she cried after him, until they stuffed her +mouth. + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + +Shapeless figures dancing on tremendous stilts, on the brink of an +abyss, to the sound of rocks being tumbled about below, in the +darkness, everything immense and dark and resounding, everything +without shape or meaning, gloom and preponderance, yawning, yawning +abysses full of frozen fog, cliffs gliding away when touched, leaving +no foundation, an endless wandering through space, through screeching +winds and . . . crash. + +Gypo awoke with a snort, perspiring with his nightmare, terrified. + +The old woman had at last awakened him by squeezing his nostrils +between her fingers. He sat up, looked about him and saw her. He saw +her weird and pale, with her white hair streaming. He was going to +strike her in terror, thinking her an ogre from his dreams, when she +spoke. + +“They’re after ye,” she hissed. “They’re after ye. They’re on the +stairs.” + +He listened. There was nothing. Not a sound. What? Just a whistle of +the wind on the roof. Ha! Something creaked. Was it the bed? No. Trup, +trip, r-r-rip. Somebody had slipped on the roof. + +Gypo bounded from the bed to the floor in one leap. He stood +motionless, crouching forward, panting, with dilated nostrils. A sound +came on the stairs outside the door. Somebody on the stairs said: +“Hist!” Then utter silence. Gypo stood transfixed, still wet with the +perspiration of his nightmare. + +Then he moved noiselessly to the fireplace and picked up the tongs. It +slipped from his fingers as he rose and rattled to the stone hearth. +He whirled about to the door with an oath. Simultaneously the door was +flung wide with a bang. Three flashes of light came before his eyes +from the doorway. As he rushed headlong towards them there was a +deafening roar. Three men had fired together at him. Then there was +chaos. + +As he dashed across the floor to the landing, he felt a sting like +frost-bite in his thigh. Then he saw their terror-stricken, mad faces. +He recognized two of them, Mulholland and Hackett. The third man was +Curley. When he closed with them and felt his giant hands on the soft +warm flesh of their bodies he breathed a sigh of satisfaction. + +Somebody fired again, unintentionally, in the struggling mass on the +landing. It must have been Curley. For his thin voice screamed +querulously after the explosion, “God have mercy on my soul!” Gypo +smelt burning under his armpit as his head was bent down to mobilize +his spine strength. + +Then the banister gave way with a crash of breaking wood. The four men +went down, without a cry. Their fists thudded with dull sounds as they +struck blindly at one another in the dark. + +They fell on the next landing. Gypo and Mulholland were on top. +Mulholland had his right knee on Curley’s back. He was cool with the +mania of death-terror. He bared his teeth and raised his pistol to +fire into Gypo’s open mouth. But Gypo rammed him with his monstrous +head. + +Mulholland was hurled backwards like a gymnast, head over heels, heels +over head. He brought up on a black sheepskin carpet outside a +tenement door in the far corner. He lay with his knees to his chin, +perfectly quiet. The pistol shot splashed through the whitewashed +woodwork of the ceiling. The pistol jingled to the floor. + +Gypo scraped around on his hands and knees in the darkness. He groped +for the two men who lay beneath him. He felt their rumps, their backs, +their thighs, in a wide sweep of his hands. Their bodies were lax and +soft, like the carcasses of dead things. One of them sighed and turned +over. Gypo rose to his feet. Without looking anywhere he rushed for +the stairs and leaped down. + +Half-way down the last flight he paused and tried to think. But he +drew his hand over his eyes and shook his head. + +“It’s no use. It’s no use,” he said aloud. + +There was a great din of disturbed people in the house above him. + +He reached the hallway. Through the open door he could see the street +outside. The dawn had come. The air was grey, cold, empty and silent. +He marched steadily to the door. His body was very cold. And his mind +was dead. Cold and dead. Dead and cold. + +A stream of red blood trickled down over his right boot from the wound +in his thigh. Another stream trickled along his right ribs. He did not +know. He was cold and dead. Dead and very cold. + +He stopped in the doorway. His eyes expanded. A last passion made his +body rigid. He roared. He had seen Gallagher standing against the +church railings across the road, with his hands in his raincoat +pockets, smiling insolently. + +Gypo descended the five steps to the street at one bound. Then as his +right foot landed on the pavement there was a rapid succession of +shots. They came from all sides. Three of them entered his body. +Without bringing his left foot to the pavement he jumped again into +the air, with his two hands reaching out and his face turned upwards, +in the earnest attitude of a symbolic dancer. + +He hurtled out into the street, hopping on staggering feet, writhing +and contorting. Then he fell to his knees. He groaned and fell prone. + +He struggled up again, looking wildly around him, holding his bowels +with his hands. Gallagher was there in front of him, smiling dreamily +now, with distant, melancholy eyes. + +Gallagher shrugged himself and turned away sharply to the right. + +Gypo wanted to go after him. But he no longer knew why he wanted to go +after him. His eyes were getting dim. His body was cold. Cold and +dead. + +Grinding his teeth he got to his feet. He threw out his chest, +shrugged his shoulders and walked ahead like a drunken man. He walked +slowly straight ahead, straight, stiff, swinging his limp hands +slowly. + +He walked through the iron gateway of the church, along the concrete +path to the door. He had to crawl up the steps on his knees. Blood was +coming up his throat. + +Reverently he dipped his hand into the holy-water font. He wet his +hand to the wrist. He tried to take off his hat in order to cross +himself. His hand pawed about his skull, but his fingers were already +dead. They could not grip the tattered hat. He tried to cross himself. +Impossible. His hand could not reach his forehead. It went up half-way +and then fell lifelessly. It was a ton weight. He strode to the left. +He staggered through a narrow Roman door. He was in the church. + +It was a great high room, curtained with silence. At the altar, away +in the lamp-lit dimness of the dawn, a priest was saying Mass. The +droning sound of the words came down the silent church, peaceful, +laden with the quaint odour of mystery, the mysterious calm of souls +groping after infinite things. All round the church the people knelt +with bent heads and faces wrapt in prayer for infinite things. Sad, +haggard, hungry faces wrapt in the contemplation of infinity, wafted +out of the sordidness of their lives by the contemplation of infinite +things. + +Peace and silence and the quaint odour of mystery and of infinite +things. + +Deep, long, soft words murmured endlessly in a silent place. Mystery +and the phantoms of death breathing faint breaths. + +Mercy and pity. Pity and peace. Pity and mercy and peace, three +eternal gems in the tabernacle of life, burnished ceaselessly with +human dust. + +From dust to dust. + +Gypo’s eyes roamed around the church. His eyes were very dim. There +was a blur before them. He thought he saw somebody whom he knew. He +was not sure. Yes. They were looking at him. There, on the left, on +the other side of the aisle. It was a long way off. What? Frankie +McPhillip’s mother! + +He set out, with a great sigh, towards her. He fell in a heap in front +of her seat. He raised his head to her face. He saw her face, a great, +white, sad face, with tears running down the fat cheeks. He struggled +to his knees in the aisle before her. People were rushing to him +talking. He waved his hands to keep them away. It was very dark. He +swallowed the blood in his mouth and he cried out in a thick whisper: + +“Mrs. McPhillip, ’twas I informed on yer son Frankie. Forgive me. I’m +dyin’.” + +“I forgive ye,” she sighed in a sad, soft whisper. “Ye didn’t know +what ye were doin’.” + +He shivered from head to foot and bowed his head. + +He felt a great mad rush of blood to his head. A great joy filled him. +He became conscious of infinite things. + +Pity and mercy and peace and the phantoms of death breathing faint +breaths. Mercy and pity and peace. + +“Lemme go!” he cried, struggling to his feet. + +He stood up straight, in all the majesty of his giant stature, +towering over all, erect and majestic, with his limbs like pillars, +looking towards the altar. + +He cried out in a loud voice: + +“Frankie, yer mother has forgiven me.” + +Then with a gurgling sound he fell forward on his face. His hat rolled +off. Blood gushed from his mouth. He stretched out his limbs in the +shape of a cross. He shivered and lay still. + + + +TRANSCRIBER’S NOTE + +This transcription follows the text of the edition published by Alfred +A. Knopf in 1925. However, the following words have been changed from +the original text to correct what are believed to be unambiguous +printing errors. + + * “_recontre_” was changed to “_rencontre_” (Chapter I). + * “Your as bad” was changed to “You’re as bad” (Chapter III). + * “stood at east” was changed to “stood at ease” (Chapter III). + * “awkard” was changed to “awkward” (Chapter IV). + * “ridicul-ulous” was changed to “ridiculous” (Chapter VII). + * “It it” was changed to “Is it” (Chapter VIII). + * “its less” was changed to “it’s less” (Chapter XI). + * “for out” was changed to “far out” (Chapter XI). + * “sang into” was changed to “sank into” (Chapter XI). + * “a think like” was changed to “a thing like” (Chapter XII). + * “banis-ister” was changed to “banister” (Chapter XVI). + * Five occurrences of mismatched quotation marks were repaired. + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75583 *** diff --git a/75583-h/75583-h.htm b/75583-h/75583-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..97c58fb --- /dev/null +++ b/75583-h/75583-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,10234 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html> +<html lang="en"> +<head> +<meta charset="utf-8"> +<title>The Informer</title> +<link rel="icon" href="images/cover.jpg" type="image/x-cover"> +<style> +body { + margin: 1em auto; + max-width: 40em; +} +p { + margin: 0; + text-indent: 1.5em; + text-align: justify; +} +hr { + width: 40%; + margin: 1em 30%; +} +h1, h2 { + margin: 2em auto; + text-align: center; + text-transform: uppercase; +} +h2 + p { text-indent: 0 } +figure { text-align: center; } +img { max-width: 95%; } +#titlepage { padding: 10% 0; } +.authorprefix { + font-style: italic; + text-align: center; + text-indent: 0; + margin: 1em 0; +} +.author { + font-size: x-large; + font-weight: bold; + margin-bottom: 4em; + text-align: center; + text-indent: 0; + text-transform: uppercase; +} +.publisher { + text-align: center; + text-indent: 0; +} +.copyright { + font-size: small; + text-align: center; + text-indent: 0; +} +.toc { + font-variant: small-caps; + margin: 0 auto; +} +.toc td { padding: 0; } +strong { + font-weight: normal; + font-style: normal; + font-variant: small-caps; +} +blockquote { + margin: 1em 0; + font-size: 90%; +} +div.chapter { page-break-before: always; } +div.section { page-break-before: always; } +</style> +</head> +<body> +<div style='text-align:center'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75583 ***</div> + +<figure> + <img id="coverpage" src="images/cover.jpg" alt="Book cover"> +</figure> + +<div class="section" id="titlepage"> + +<h1>The Informer</h1> +<p class="authorprefix">by</p> +<p class="author">Liam O’Flaherty</p> + +<p class="publisher">New York: Alfred A. Knopf</p> +<p class="publisher">1925</p> +<p class="copyright">Copyright 1925 by Liam O’Flaherty</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="section" id="contents"> + +<h2>Contents</h2> + +<table class="toc"> +<tr><td><a href="#ch01">Chapter I</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ch02">Chapter II</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ch03">Chapter III</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ch04">Chapter IV</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ch05">Chapter V</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ch06">Chapter VI</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ch07">Chapter VII</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ch08">Chapter VIII</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ch09">Chapter IX</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ch10">Chapter X</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ch11">Chapter XI</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ch12">Chapter XII</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ch13">Chapter XIII</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ch14">Chapter XIV</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ch15">Chapter XV</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ch16">Chapter XVI</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ch17">Chapter XVII</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ch18">Chapter XVIII</a></td></tr> +</table> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter" id="ch01"> + +<h2>Chapter I</h2> + +<p>It was three minutes to six o’clock in the +evening of the fifteenth of March 192‒.</p> + +<p>Francis Joseph McPhillip ran up the concrete +steps leading to the glass-panelled swing door that +acted as street entrance to the Dunboy Lodging +House. The House, as it was called in Dublin, +among criminal and pauperized circles, was a grey +concrete building of four stories. It stood on the +left-hand side of a wide wind-swept asphalt lane off +B—— Road on the south side of the city. A maze +of slum streets surrounded it. An indefinable smell +of human beings living in a congested area filled the +air around it. From the building itself, a smell of +food and of floors being scrubbed with soap and +hot water emanated.</p> + +<p>A drizzling rain was falling from a black +bulging sky. Now and again a flock of hailstones, +driven by a sudden gust of querulous wind, clattered +down the lane, falling in little dancing groups on +the hard, perspiring asphalt.</p> + +<p>McPhillip ran up the four steps and peered into +the hall hurriedly through the glass door. He put +his face so close to the glass that his excited breath +caused an immediate blur of vapour on the frozen +pane. Then he turned about. He crouched against +the angle of the doorway and peered around the +corner of the wall, up the lane through which he +had just come. He wanted to find out whether +anybody was following him. He was a murderer.</p> + +<p>He had killed the secretary of the local branch of +the Farmers’ Union during the farm labourers’ strike +at M—— in the previous October. Since then he +had been hiding out in the mountains with a group +of men who were evading arrest, brigands, criminals +and political refugees. He had just come into +Dublin half an hour previously on a goods train. The +conductor of the train was a member of the +Revolutionary Organization, to which McPhillip himself +had belonged when he shot the Farmers’ Union +Secretary.</p> + +<p>He saw nobody of account in the lane. An old +woman crossed near the far end. She had a black +shawl about her head and in her hand a milk jug, +with a corner of the shawl drawn across its mouth +to keep out the rain. A man was singing forlornly, +facing the kerb on the right-hand side, with his cap +held out in front of him. He was begging, but +nobody took any notice of him.</p> + +<p>McPhillip’s eyes darted about everywhere, with +the speed and acuteness of one who has perfected +his detective sensibilities by necessity and long +practice. The street was quite safe. He sighed +and turned about to survey the interior of the +House.</p> + +<p>He was a man of middle size and slightly built, +but his shoulders were broad enough for a giant. +His body narrowed down from the shoulders, so that +the hips and waist were totally out of proportion +to the upper part of the body. His right leg opened +outwards in a curve below the knee and he placed +the toe of the right foot on the ground before the +heel when he walked, so that his walk had the +crouching appearance of a wild animal stalking in a +forest. His face was thin and sallow. His hair +was black and cropped close. His eyebrows were +black and bushy. His eyelashes were long and they +continually drooped over his eyes. When his eyelashes +drooped his eyes were blue, sharp and fierce. +But when he raised his lashes for a moment to think +of something distant and perhaps imaginary, his +eyes were large, wistful and dreamy. They were +soft and full of a sorrow that was unfathomable. +His jaws were square, sharp and fleshless. His lips +were thin and set tightly. This gave the lower part +of his face a ferocious appearance. His nose was +long and straight. His cheeks were hollow and on +the cheekbones a bright flush appeared when he was +seized with a fit of hard, dry coughing which he +tried to suppress.</p> + +<p>He was dressed in a shabby pair of wrinkled navy +blue trousers and a fawn-coloured, shabby raincoat, +buttoned up around his throat like a uniform. His +boots were old and thin. They creaked with +moisture soaked in through their torn soles. He +wore a grey tweed cap. Under his left armpit he +carried an automatic pistol in a leather holster. The +pistol hung from a lanyard that was suspended from +his neck.</p> + +<p>As he stood looking in through the door, the +fingers of his right hand were thrust in between the +first and second buttons of his raincoat. The tips +of the fingers rested on the cold butt of the +automatic.</p> + +<p>Within the hall three old men were waiting in a +row outside the closed glass window of the office on +the right-hand side. The nearest old man to the +door wore a brown pauper’s uniform. Both his +eyes had cataracts and he seemed to be on the +point of going into a faint. He was leaning on a +stick and his head kept bobbing like a man that is +in a drunken stupor and is on the point of falling +asleep. The second old man wore a torn old dress +suit. He looked like a waiter thrown out of +employment through old age. He had a sharp lean +face. The farthest old man was dressed in a +medley of unspeakable rags and he shook his body +continually trying to scratch himself on the insides of +his clothes. The three of them stood in silence. +Beyond them, four more concrete steps led to a long +passage through the building. A corridor crossed +the passage at the far end. Men passed along the +corridor now and again in groups.</p> + +<p>McPhillip was about to push through the door +when the glass panel was pulled up with a screech +and a man’s head appeared at the window. The +man cracked his thumb and forefinger and motioned +the nearest old man to approach, the old man +dressed in rags. The old man started and cried +out in a weak, childish voice: “Oh be Janey I’d +forgotten.” Smiling weakly and muttering to +himself he began to rummage among his rags. The man +at the window looked at him, pursed up his lips +angrily and disappeared.</p> + +<p>Presently he reappeared from around the corner +of the office. He came up to the old man and stood +in front of him with his hands on his hips and +his legs spread wide apart. His neat blue trousers +were perfectly creased. He was in his shirt sleeves, +so that his diamond sleeve links and the large +diamond in his tie flashed in the half darkness. +His hair was glued to his head with perfumed oil. +Its odour pervaded the whole hallway. He looked +at the old man with an expression of mixed contempt +and anger. The two other old men began to snigger +fawningly and tried to appear to have absolutely +no connection with the ragged old man.</p> + +<p>At last the ragged old man found a red handkerchief, +and in his excitement he could not undo the +knot that bound it together in a ball.</p> + +<p>“Here,” he cried, holding out the handkerchief +to the clerk, “there are five pennies and four +halfpennies there. Me fingers are all stiff with the +rheumatism an’ I can’t untie it. Maybe ye’d do +it for me for th’ honour o’ God?”</p> + +<p>Then he looked up into the clerk’s face with his +mouth open. But the clerk, without taking any +notice of the handkerchief, was looking at the old +man’s face as if he were going to strike him. The +old man began to tremble.</p> + +<p>“Get out of here,” yelled the clerk suddenly in +a thunderous voice.</p> + +<p>Then he became motionless again. The old man +began to babble and shiver. He turned about and +shuffled down the steps to the door, scratching his +shoulder-blades against his clothes as he moved. He +went down two steps and then paused uncertainly +and looked behind him. Then he shuddered, took +another step, lost his balance and slipped. He +slithered to the door on his buttocks. The other +two old men began to laugh and titter. The clerk +scowled at them. “What are ye laughing at?” he +cried. They stopped immediately. “Hey you,” he +continued, pointing his finger at the ragged old man, +who had reached the street outside and was standing +irresolutely on the kerb looking back over his +shoulders. “If I catch you here again, you old +fool, I’ll hand you over to the police. Go away now +and get into the workhouse where you belong. +Huh!”</p> + +<p>The old man wrinkled up his monkey-like face +into a grimace of surprise and misery. He cast a +terrified look at the haggard face of McPhillip, that +peered at him out of the angle of the wall to the +left of the door. Then he mumbled something +and set off down the lane at a broken trot. The +other two old men in the hall began to whisper to +one another as soon as the clerk turned his back +and walked back into the office.</p> + +<p>“Be the holy,” said one, “he should be shot, wha?”</p> + +<p>“So he should,” whined the other old man, “the +dirty, rotten—to be goin’ about like that.”</p> + +<p>Then they shuffled up to the window for their +bed tickets. The clerk swore at them and called +them filthy names, but they kept apologizing to +him and sniggering.</p> + +<p>While the two old men were getting their bed +tickets at the window, McPhillip pushed through +the door quietly and slipped along the hall. He +turned to the right at the far end. He stopped +there. He leaned up against the wall casually, took +a cigarette from his pocket and lit it. He looked +around examining the passage. It was a wide corridor +with a concrete floor and walls of glazed brick. +There were windows at regular intervals opening +on a large yard at the rear of the building. In the +alcoves formed by the windows seats were placed. +By the opposite wall there were spittoons placed +at equal distances of three yards or so. Men were +strewn along the passage in groups, some sitting on +the seats conversing in low voices, others walking +up and down singly or in pairs, with their eyes +on the ground and their hands muffed behind their +backs in their coat sleeves. They were all +wretchedly dressed and melancholy. Some were quite +young, but their faces had already assumed the +dejected appearance that is usually found only in +the faces of old men who have been disappointed in +life.</p> + +<p>Puffing at his cigarette slowly, McPhillip +examined the hall and the men who passed, with the +same quick, sharp cunning with which he had +examined the street. Again he could see nobody that +aroused his interest. Again he sighed gently and +moved away to the right. He entered a large room +through a swing door.</p> + +<p>The room was crowded. It was furnished with +long tables and wooden forms, like a café for the +working class. There were newspapers on some +tables. On others there were games or draughts +and dominoes. Men sat at all the tables. Some +read. Others played games. The majority, however, +sat in silence, their eyes staring vacantly in +front of them, contemplating the horror of their +lives. Those who could find no seat stood about +the tables, watching the progress of the games, +with their hands in their pockets and their faces +set in an expression of stolid and absent-minded +indifference.</p> + +<p>McPhillip walked about from one table to another, +his cigarette in his left hand, the fingers of his +right hand clutching the butt of his automatic, +between the two top buttons of his raincoat. +Nobody noticed him. The melancholy eyes, that were +raised casually to look, saw only another shabby +wreck like themselves. Even had his identity been +suddenly disclosed by means of a loud trumpet to +the men in that room, it is questionable whether the +news would have occasioned excitement in more +than a few breasts. Casual workers, casual +criminals and broken old men, their connection with +the ordered scheme of civilized life, with its moral +laws and its horror of crime, was so thin and weak +that they were unable to feel the interest that +murder arouses in the tender breasts of our wives and +sisters.</p> + +<p>McPhillip examined the room carefully without +discovering what he wanted. Then he walked out +into the corridor again. He entered another room +that was used by the occupants of the lodging-house +for the purpose of writing letters. That room was +empty. Then he descended a stairway to the +lavatories and bathrooms. Here men were shaving and +washing themselves. He walked about and +discovered nobody. He came up again into the +corridor and entered the dining-room.</p> + +<p>The dining-room was very large and furnished +with small deal tables and long forms of the same +material. The wooden floor was covered with +sawdust, like the floor of a slum public-house. Here +and there the sawdust was mixed with refuse that +had been swept from the tables. At the far end +of the room a great number of men were gathered +around an immense range, some with frying-pans +in their hands awaiting their turn to cook, others +rushing about attending to cooking utensils that +were already on the range. They all had knives, +spoons and forks in their hands. They were +jostling, perspiring, cursing, laughing and scratching +themselves. There was a great din of voices and +a smell of food and of human bodies.</p> + +<p>At the other end of the room there was a counter +and behind the counter a large bright kitchen, +shining bright with white crockery, polished brasses +and the clean white uniforms of the women who +served in it. Three young women were there cooking +and serving food, for the lodgers who had not +the means or the inclination to prepare their own +food. These lodgers stood at the counter buying +tea, bread and butter, cooked eggs and meat. They +also purchased knives, forks, spoons and salt, +because these necessities were not provided by the +management in the lodging-house, owing to the +moral character of the lodgers, except on payment +of a fixed sum, which was returned at the conclusion +of the meal, when the articles were handed +back at the counter.</p> + +<p>McPhillip walked down across the room to the +far side. He had seen the man he sought at the +first glance. He walked straight to a table by the +wall at the far side. At that table a young man of +thirty or so was eating his supper.</p> + +<p>He ate off an enamelled plate that was loaded +high with potatoes, coarse cabbage and a large piece +of boiled bacon. A great steam rose from the plate +and twisted up towards the ceiling in front of the +man’s face. The man was dressed in a suit of blue +dungarees, with a white muffler wound round and +round his neck. He had a close-cropped +bullet-shaped head, fair hair and dark eyebrows. The +eyebrows were just single tufts, one over the centre +of each eye. They grew long and narrowed to a +single hair, like the ends of waxed moustaches. +They were just like ominous snouts, and they had +more expression than the dim little blue eyes that +were hidden away behind their scowling shadows. +The face was bronzed red and it was covered by +swellings that looked like humps at a distance. +These humps came out on the forehead, on the +cheekbones, on the chin and on either side of the +neck below the ears. On close observation, however, +they almost disappeared in the general glossy +colour of the brownish red skin, that looked as +if there were several tiers of taut skin covering the +face. The nose was short and bulbous. The mouth +was large. The lips were thick and they fitted +together in such a manner that the mouth gave +the face an expression of being perpetually asleep. +His body was immense, with massive limbs and +bulging muscles pushing out here and there, like +excrescences of the earth breaking the expected +regularity of a country-side. He sat upright in his +seat, with his large square head bolted on to his +squat neck, like an iron stanchion riveted to a +deck.</p> + +<p>He stared straight in front of him as he ate. +He held his fork by the handle, upright, in his +left hand. He rapped the table with the end of the +fork, as if he were keeping time with the rapid +crunching of his jaws. But as soon as he saw +McPhillip, his jaws stopped moving and the hand +holding the fork dropped noiselessly to the table. +His face closed up and his body became absolutely +motionless.</p> + +<p>McPhillip sat down at the opposite side of the +table. He did not speak and he did not express +recognition by any sign or movement of his body. +But he knew the man quite well. They were bosom +friends. The man was Gypo Nolan, McPhillip’s +companion during the strike of farm-labourers, when +McPhillip had killed the secretary of the Farmers’ +Union. Gypo Nolan had once been a policeman +in Dublin, but he had been dismissed owing to a +suspicion at Headquarters that he was in league with +the Revolutionary Organization and had given +information to them relative to certain matters that +had leaked out. Since then he had been an active +member of the Revolutionary Organization and had +always acted with Francis Joseph McPhillip, so that +they were known in revolutionary circles as the +“Devil’s Twins.”</p> + +<p>“Well, Gypo,” said McPhillip at last, “how is +things?”</p> + +<p>McPhillip’s voice was cracked and weak, but it +had a fierce sincerity that gave it immense force, +like the force in the chirping of a tiny bird whose +nest is being robbed.</p> + +<p>“Did ye leave them messages I gave ye?” he +continued after a moment, during which he gasped +for breath. “I didn’t hear anythin’ from home since +I saw ye that evenin’ I had to take to the hills. +What’s doin’, Gypo?”</p> + +<p>Gypo stared in silence for several moments, +breathing slowly, with open mouth and distended +eyes. He never spoke. Then he made a strange +sound, like a suppressed exclamation, in his throat. +He slowly cut a large potato in four pieces with +his knife. He transferred one piece to his mouth +on the tip of his knife. He began to chew slowly. +Then he stopped chewing suddenly and spoke. It +was a deep thunderous voice.</p> + +<p>“Where the divil did ye come from, Frankie?” +he said.</p> + +<p>“It don’t matter where I come from,” cried McPhillip +in an irritated tone. “I got no time to waste +passin’ the compliments o’ the season. I came in +here to get wise to all the news. Tell us all ye +know. First, tell me . . . wait a minute. How +about them messages? Did ye deliver them? +Don’t mind that grub. Man alive, are ye a savage +or what? Here I am with the cops after me for +me life an’ ye go on eatin’ yer spuds. Lave down +that damn knife or I’ll plug ye. Come on, I’m +riskin’ me life to come in here and ask ye a question. +Get busy an’ tell me all about it.”</p> + +<p>Gypo sighed easily and wiped his mouth with the +back of his right sleeve. Then he put his knife +on the table and swallowed his mouthful.</p> + +<p>“Ye were always a cranky fellah,” he growled, +“an’ ye don’t seem to be improvin’, with the spring +weather. I’ll tell ye if ye hold on a minute. I +delivered yer messages, to yer father an’ mother +and to the Executive Committee. Yer ol’ man gev +me dog’s abuse and drov’ me outa the house, an’ +he cursed ye be bell, book an’ candle light. Yer +mother followed me out cryin’ an’ put half a quid +into me hand to give to ye. I had no way o’ findin’ +ye an’ I was hungry mesel’, so I spent it. Well——”</p> + +<p>McPhillip interrupted with a muttered curse. +Then he was seized with a fit of coughing. When +the fit was over, Gypo went on.</p> + +<p>“Well,” continued Gypo. “Ye know yersel’ what +happened with the Executive Committee. They +sent a man out to tell ye. I wouldn’t mind them +sendin’ a letter to the papers sayin’ they had nothin’ +to do with the strike. It ud only be all swank +anyway, an’ who cares? But I declare to Christ they +near had me plugged when I went in to report. +Commandant Gallagher was goin’ to send down men +to plug ye too, but lots o’ the other fellahs got around +him and he didn’t. Anyway I was fired out o’ the +Organization as well as yersel’, although ye know +yersel’, Frankie, that I had nothin’ to do with firin’ +that shot. An’——”</p> + +<p>“What the—” began McPhillip angrily, rapping +the table; but again he began to cough. Gypo went +on without taking notice of the coughing.</p> + +<p>“The police arrested me, but they could find no +evidence, so they gev me an awful beatin’ and threw +me out. I ben wanderin’ around since without a dog +to lick me trousers, half starvin’!”</p> + +<p>“What do I want to know about the Executive +Committee?” grumbled McPhillip angrily, recovering +his breath. “I don’t want to hear anything +about executive committees or revolutionary +organizations, me curse on the lot o’ them. I want to hear +about me father an’ mother. What about ’em, +Gypo?”</p> + +<p>Gypo expanded his thick under lip and stared at +McPhillip with distended eyes. His eyes seemed to +hold an expression of sadness in their dim recesses, +but it was hard to say. The face was so crude and +strong that the expression that might be termed +sadness in another face was mere wonder in his. +For the first time he had noticed the pallor of +McPhillip’s face, the hectic flush, the fits of coughing, +the jerky movements and the evident terror in the +eyes that used to be so fearless.</p> + +<p>“Frankie,” cried Gypo in his deep, slow, passionless +voice, “yer sick. Man alive, ye look as if ye +were dyin’.”</p> + +<p>McPhillip started and looked about him hurriedly +as if he expected to see death there behind his back +waiting to pounce upon him.</p> + +<p>“Have a bite,” continued Gypo, “ ’twill warm +ye up.”</p> + +<p>At the same time he himself began to eat again +fiercely, like a great strong animal, tackling the +solitary meal of its day. The large red hands with just +stumps of fingers held the knife and fork so +ponderously that those frail instruments seemed to run +the danger of being crushed, like some costly thing +picked up on the tip of an elephant’s trunk. But +McPhillip did not follow the invitation. He looked +angrily at the food for several seconds with wrinkled +forehead, as if he were trying to remember what +it was and what it was for, and then he spoke +again.</p> + +<p>“I know I’m dyin’, Gypo, an’ that’s why I came +in. I got the consumption.” Gypo started. He +was struck at that moment by an insane and +monstrous idea. “I came in to get some money from +me mother. An’ I wanted to see her before I die. +Good God, it was awful, Gypo, out there on them +hills all the winter, with me gun in me hand night +an’ day, sleeping in holes on the mountains, with +the winds blowin’ about me all night, screechin’ like +a pack o’ devils, an’ every blast o’ them winds spoke +with a man’s voice, an’ I lyin’ there listenin’ to +them. Good God——”</p> + +<p>Again he began to cough and he had to stop. +Gypo was not listening to him. He had not heard +a word. A monstrous idea had prowled into his +head, like an uncouth beast straying from a wilderness +into a civilized place where little children are +alone. He did not hear McPhillip’s words or his +coughing, although the monstrous idea was in relation +to McPhillip.</p> + +<p>“So I said to mesel’, that I might as well chance +me arm be comin’ into town as lyin’ out there, +starvin’ to death with the cold an’ hunger an’ this +cough. So I came along here to see ye, Gyp, first, +so as to get a bead on what’s doin’. Have they got +a guard on the house?”</p> + +<p>“Divil a guard,” replied Gypo suddenly, and then +he started and stretched out his right hand towards +McPhillip with a little exclamation. His eyes were +wild and his mouth was wide open like the mouth +of a man looking at a spectre. Gypo’s mind was +looking at that uncouth ogre that was prowling about +in his brain.</p> + +<p>McPhillip leaned across the table. Gradually his +eyes narrowed into an intense stare of ferocity. +His lips curled up and his forehead wrinkled. He +began to tremble.</p> + +<p>“What is it, Gypo?” he hissed. “Tell me, Gyp, +or I’ll . . .” He made a rapid movement with the +wrist of the hand that clutched his automatic. “The +cops are after me, Gyp, an’ I’m dyin’, so I don’t +mind how I use the twenty-four rounds I got left. +I’ve notched their noses so they can make a quare +hole. There’s one for mesel’ too.” He shuddered +as if at the thought of a tender pleasure. Then he +scowled fiercely and half drew the butt of his pistol +from his pocket. His voice was almost inaudible. +“Tell me the truth about how things stand without +any jig actin’ or I’ll plug ye.”</p> + +<p>He glared at Gypo, his hand on his pistol, his +right arm rigid to the shoulder, ready to draw the +gun and fire in one movement. Gypo stared him in +the eyes without any emotion, either of fear or of +surprise. With the nail of his right forefinger he +abstracted a string of meat from between two teeth. +He spluttered with his lips and then he shrugged his +shoulders. The spectre had suddenly gone out of +his mind without his being able to make head or tail +of it.</p> + +<p>“No use talkin’ like that to me, Frankie,” he +murmured lazily. “The only reason why I didn’t +want to say anythin’ was because I didn’t like +to . . .” Again the ghoulish thing came into his +mind and he stopped with a start. But almost +immediately he continued in a forced voice. He was +beginning to be ashamed of that spectre as if he had +already given way to the horrid suggestions it made, +although he did not at all comprehend those +suggestions. “I didn’t like to maybe send ye into harm’s +way. Ye see, I don’t know if there’s a guard on +yer father’s house or if there’s not. I generally +knock around Titt Street, but I haven’t been near +No. 44 since that night I went there with yer message +an’ yer ol’ man told me never to darken his door +again. There may be a guard on it or there may +be no guard on it. But if I told ye there wasn’t and +ye went there and got nabbed, ye know——”</p> + +<p>“What are ye drivin’ at, Gypo?” growled +McPhillip suspiciously.</p> + +<p>“Nothin’ at all,” said Gypo with a great deep +laugh. “But it’s how ye’ve come in on me so sudden, +an’ I don’t know right what I’m talkin’ about. Ye +see, I’m all mixed up for the last six months, +wanderin’ around here, without a mate that ud give me +a tanner for a flop if I were to die o’ the cold lyin’ in +O’Connell’s Street with a foot o’ frost on the ground. +They——”</p> + +<p>“Oh, shut up about yersel’ an’ the frost an’ tell us +somethin’.”</p> + +<p>“Now don’t get yer rag out, Frankie. I was +comin’ to that. I was comin’ to it, man. They held +me up in the street the other day and had a long +talk about ye. They’re after ye yet all right. +Sergeant McCartney an’ another fellah from Sligo was +there. That Detective-Sergeant McCartney is a bad +lot. Huh, he’s a rascal, an’ no goin’ behind a wall +to say it. He swore to me that he’d get ye dead or +alive. ‘I wouldn’t care much for yer job then,’ says +I to him, just like that, an’ he gave me an eye that ud +knock ye stiff.”</p> + +<p>“He says he’s goin’ to get me, did he?” murmured +McPhillip dreamily. Suddenly his mind seemed to +wander away and he lost interest in his present +surroundings. His eyes rested vacantly on the table, +about a foot away to the right.</p> + +<p>Gypo looked hurriedly at the spot upon which +McPhillip’s eyes were fixed. He saw nothing. He +looked back again at McPhillip’s face and wrinkled +up his forehead. Then he made a noise in his throat +and began to eat once more with great rapidity. He +breathed on his food, to cool it, as he put it into his +jaws. He made noises.</p> + +<p>McPhillip stared at the table for a long time. His +right hand toyed nervously with the butt of his +pistol. His left hand rapped the table. Then a +strange sparkle came into his eyes. He laughed +suddenly. It was a strange laugh. It made Gypo start.</p> + +<p>“What’s the matter, Frankie?” he asked in a +terrified voice.</p> + +<p>“Nothin’ atall,” said McPhillip, shaking himself. +“Gimme somethin’ t’ eat.”</p> + +<p>He began to eat ravenously, using his penknife as a +knife and fork. He had not eaten for a long time. +He did not taste the food but gulped it down at a +great speed.</p> + +<p>Gypo ate also, but he kept staring at McPhillip +while he ate. Every time his wandering little eyes +reached McPhillip’s eyes they narrowed and became +very sharp. Then he would roll his tongue around +in his cheek and make a sucking sound.</p> + +<p>At last McPhillip stopped eating. He wiped his +penknife on his trousers and put it into his pocket.</p> + +<p>“Gypo,” he said slowly, “are there any cops +watchin’ our house, the old man’s place in Titt +Street?”</p> + +<p>Gypo shook his head three times in reply. His +mouth was full. Then he swallowed his mouthful, +he put his fork to his forehead and set to thinking.</p> + +<p>“Lemme see,” he said at last. “Yeh. They had +two cops watchin’ the place until after Christmas. +Then they took ’em off. They didn’t put any on +since as far as I know, but I believe that a fellah goes +around there now an’ again to make inquiries. O’ +course they might have secret-service men on it as +well. God only knows who’s givin’ information to +the Government now, an’ who isn’t. Ye never know +who yer talkin’ to. I never in me life saw anythin’ +like it. Tell ye what, Frankie, the workin’ class is +not worth fightin’ for. They think yer gone to the +United States, but all the same it might be dangerous +goin’ down there now. I’m sorry I have no money +to give ye, so as ye could——”</p> + +<p>“Where the divil did ye get all the gab?” cried +McPhillip suddenly, looking suspiciously at Gypo. +“I never knew ye to let out all that much talk in a +day, or maybe a whole week. Are ye goin’ to the +university now in yer spare time or what ails ye?”</p> + +<p>McPhillip began to rap the table again. There +was silence. Gypo nonchalantly transferred the +scraps from his plate to his mouth on the flat of his +knife. When the plate was completely cleaned up +he rattled the knife and fork on to it. Then he +stuck out his massive chest and rubbed his palms +along it.</p> + +<p>Suddenly McPhillip swore and jumped to his feet. +He stood, as if in a dream, looking at the table for +several moments. Gypo watched his face, with his +little tufted eyebrows quivering. At the same time +he cleaned his teeth with his left thumb-nail. At +last McPhillip drew in a deep breath through his +teeth, making a noise as if he were sucking ice.</p> + +<p>“Right,” he said, with his eyes still on the table. +“My ould fellah is at home now, is he?”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said Gypo. “I saw him yesterday. He +was over in the ’Pool on a job, but he’s back this +fortnight. I think he’s workin’ on a new house out +in Rathmines.”</p> + +<p>“Right,” said McPhillip again. Then he raised +his eyes, looked at Gypo fiercely and smiled in a +curious fashion. “See ye again, Gypo, unless the +cops get me.”</p> + +<p>As he spoke he seemed to think of something. His +face quivered and darkened. Then he shrugged his +shoulders and laughed outright. He nodded twice +and turned on his heel. He strode hurriedly out of +the room.</p> + +<p>Gypo looked after him for a long time without +moving. He had finished cleaning his teeth. He +just stared at the door through which McPhillip had +disappeared. Then gradually his mind began to fill +with suggestions. His forehead wrinkled up. His +body began to fidget. At last he jumped to his feet. +He collected the plate, the knife and fork and the +salt. He walked into the passage and put them in a +locker, which was provided by the management for +the lodgers. The locker did not belong to Gypo. +He had no locker because he was merely a casual +lodger since he had no regular income to pay for a +bed by the week. The locker belonged to a carter +of Gypo’s acquaintance. Gypo had seen the man +put his next-day’s dinner in the locker and go away +without turning the key. Gypo knew also that the +man would not be back until ten o’clock that night. +So he took the dinner.</p> + +<p>He placed the things in the locker and walked away +casually. He sat on the corner of a seat in one of +the alcoves. He rummaged in the pockets of his +dungarees and collected several minute scraps of +cigarettes. He carefully unrolled the scraps, collecting all +the tobacco in the palm of his right hand. Then he +begged a cigarette paper from an old man who sat +beside him. The old man had none and said so with +an angry curse. Gypo wrinkled his forehead and +sniffed as if he were smelling the old man. Then +he turned to a young man who passed and requested +a cigarette paper. The young man halted and +supplied one grudgingly. Gypo took the paper in +silence, without a word or a nod of thanks. He +rolled his cigarette and lit it at the gas jet. Then he +sat down again, crossed his legs, let his body go limp +and began to smoke.</p> + +<p>His ears seemed to stick out very far, as he lay +back limply in the seat, in the half-darkness of the +corridor.</p> + +<p>For a minute the odour and the taste of the tobacco +held him in a state of enjoyment. He did not +think either of the fact that he had no bed for the +night or of his meeting with McPhillip. Then gradually +his forehead began to wrinkle and furrow. His +little tufted eyebrows began to twitch. When he +pulled at his cigarette his face was enshrouded in a +bright glow and the humps on his face stood out, +glistening and smooth. He began to shift about in +his seat. First he uncrossed his legs. Then he +crossed them again. He began to tap his knee with +his right hand. He sighed. His cigarette wore out +until it was burning his lips without his becoming +aware of the fact. Then he spluttered it out of his +mouth on to his chest and he jumped to his feet.</p> + +<p>He stood looking at the ground with his hands +deep in his trousers pockets. He seemed to be deep +in thought, but he was not thinking. At least there +was no concrete idea fixed in his mind. Two facts +rumbled about in his brain, making that loud +primeval noise, which is the beginning of thought and +which tired people experience when the jaded brain +has spun out the last threads of its energy. There +were two facts in his brain. First, the fact of his +meeting with McPhillip. Second, the fact of his +having no money to buy a bed for the night.</p> + +<p>These two facts stood together in an amorphous +mass. But he could not summon up courage to +tackle them and place them in proper juxtaposition +and reason out their relationship. He just stood +looking at the ground.</p> + +<p>Then a drunken bookmaker’s clerk named Shanahan +brushed against him. He stepped aside with a +muttered oath. He pulled one hand from his pocket +to strike, with the fingers extended in the shape of a +bird’s claws. Shanahan, doubled up in the middle +by the helplessness of intoxication, stared at Gypo +with blue eyes that had gone almost completely red. +Gypo turned away with a shrug of his shoulders. +At any other time he would gladly have availed +himself of this opportunity of begging a shilling from +Shanahan. Shanahan was always good for the loan of +a shilling when he was drunk. A shilling would procure +Gypo a bed for the night and leave a little for a +light breakfast in the morning. Ten minutes ago, a +<i>rencontre</i> of this sort would have been a godsend to +Gypo. But now, those two cursed facts stood in +his brain, making him unconscious of everything +else.</p> + +<p>He walked out of the House and up the lane +towards B— Road.</p> + +<p>He walked with his hands deep in his pockets, +slowly, with his thighs brushing on the insides as he +walked. He seemed to haul his big boots after him, +bringing them as near the ground as possible. His +hips moved up and down as his feet went forward. +His eyes were on the ground. His lips were distended +outwards. His little torn, brown, slouch hat +was perched incongruously on the top of his head, +much too small for his large square skull, with the +brim turned up closely all around. When a squall of +wind, laden with little sharp hailstones, struck him +across the face and body, his clothes puffed out and +he curled up his short stubby nose in an angry grin.</p> + +<p>He was looking into the window of a saddler’s shop +in Dame Street, when the relationship between the +two facts became known to him. He was looking +at a pair of bright spurs and his face contorted +suddenly. His eyes bulged as if he were taken with +a fit of terror. He looked about him suspiciously, +as if he were about to steal something for the first +time. Then he rushed away hurriedly. He moved +through lanes and alleyways to the river. He crossed +the street to the river wall. He leaned his elbows +on the wall and spat into the dark water. With +his chin resting on his arms, he stood perfectly still, +thinking.</p> + +<p>He was contemplating the sudden discovery that +his mind had made, about the relationship between +his having no money for a bed and his having met +Francis Joseph McPhillip, who was wanted for murder +in connection with the farm-labourers’ strike at +M—— in the previous October. A terrific silence +reigned within his head.</p> + +<p>Now and again he looked around him with a kind +of panting noise. He snorted and smelled the air +and screwed up his eyes. Then he leaned over the +wall again and rested his chin on his crossed hands. +He was that way for half an hour. Then at last he +drew himself up straight. He stretched his arms +above his head. He yawned. He stuck his hands +in his trousers pockets. He stared at the ground. +Then with his eyes on the ground he walked away +at the same slouching pace as before.</p> + +<p>He crossed the river and traversed a maze of side +streets, with his eyes always on the ground, until he +reached the corner of a dark side street, that had a +bright lamp hanging over a doorway, half-way down +on the right-hand side. That was a police-station. +He stared at the lamp with his eyes wide open for +several moments. Almost a minute. Then he said +“Huh” out loud. Then he looked around him +cautiously on all sides.</p> + +<p>The street was empty. Rain drizzled slowly. He +examined the street, the warehouses on his side of the +street, the blank wall on the other side. Then his +eyes came back to the bright lamp that hung above +the door of the police-station. He sighed deeply and +began to walk slowly, ever so slowly and +ponderously, towards the lamp.</p> + +<p>He walked up the steps, steadily, one at a time, +making a loud noise. He kicked the swing door open +with his foot without taking his hands out of his +pockets. In the hallway, a constable in a black, +cone-shaped, night helmet stood facing him, pulling +on his gloves. Gypo halted and stared at the +constable.</p> + +<p>“I have come to claim the twenty pounds reward +offered by the Farmers’ Union for information +concerning Francis Joseph McPhillip,” he said in a +deep, low voice.</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter" id="ch02"> + +<h2>Chapter II</h2> + +<p>At thirty-five minutes past seven Francis +Joseph McPhillip shot himself dead while +trying to escape from No. 44 Titt Street, his +father’s house. The house had been surrounded by +Detective-Sergeant McCartney and ten men. Hanging +by his left hand from the sill of the back-bedroom +window on the second floor, McPhillip put +two bullets into McCartney’s left shoulder. While +he was trying to fire again, his left hand slipped and +lost its hold. The pistol muzzle struck the edge of +the sill. The bullet shot upwards and entered +McPhillip’s brain through the right temple.</p> + +<p>When they picked him out of the orange box in +the back garden where he fell, he was quite dead.</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter" id="ch03"> + +<h2>Chapter III</h2> + +<p>At twenty-five minutes past eight Gypo +left the police-station by a door in the rear +of the building. In his pocket he carried +twenty pounds in Treasury notes, the reward for +information concerning Francis Joseph McPhillip.</p> + +<p>He walked quickly along a narrow passage into a +dark lane. The lane was empty. So it appeared at +first. But as Gypo stood hidden in the doorway of +an old empty house, piercing the darkness with wild +eyes, he heard a footstep. The footstep made him +start. It was the first human footstep he had heard, +the first sound of his fellow human beings, since he +had become an informer and . . . and an outcast.</p> + +<p>Immediately he felt that the footstep was menacing, +as if he were certain that it belonged to +somebody that was tracking him. How strange! Within +the course of ninety minutes the customary sound of +a human footstep had, by some evil miracle, become +menacing. Ninety minutes ago, his ears would not +have challenged the sound of a human footstep, no +more than they would have challenged the sound of +the breath coming normally from his lungs. But +now they pricked into attention at the trudging +shuffle that approached from the left. His heart +began to pant.</p> + +<p>Of course it was nobody of consequence. It was +only a ragged old woman of ill fame, with a +debauched face and melancholy eyes. She paused +drunkenly in front of him, muttering something +unintelligible. Then she bared her ragged teeth. She +spat and passed on without speaking. Was it an +omen? Gypo did not notice that it was. He merely +listened to the sound of her footsteps, splashing +carelessly through the pools.</p> + +<p>Then he looked ahead of him furtively and moved +off with the careful listening, stooping movement of +a man wandering alone at night in a forest gorge +where lions are about. He turned a corner and came +face to face with a blaze of light and a street with +shops and crowds of people going about. At first he +shuddered with fear. Then he swore and drew in a +deep breath. What had he to fear? He knew the +street well. Who was going to interfere with him? +His giant fists clawed up, like talons enraged, and +the muscles of his throat and shoulders stiffened. +He imagined himself throttling these enemies who +might be inclined to assault him. He felt comforted, +reminded by this pressure of his muscles, of his +enormous strength. He settled his little round hat +jauntily on the back of his head. He stuck his hands +in his trousers pockets. He swung his legs and +rolled like a sailor out of the lane, arrogantly, into +the glare of the street.</p> + +<p>At the same slow, swinging, rolling gait, he crossed +the street through the traffic without pausing, without +stepping aside, without looking to the right or to +the left. Motor-cars, carts, bicycles and wagons +swerved to avoid him. He went through them without +looking at them, like a great monster walking +through a cloud of ants, that are carrying on their +futile and infinitesimal labours about his feet. They +turned towards him to curse, but those that saw his +face gaped and passed into the night with the curse +unuttered. His face, with the humps on it shining +in the glare of the lamps, was like a subtle mask. It +was so . . . so dead.</p> + +<p>He walked straight across the pavement into a +public-house. He kicked the swing door open with +his foot, without taking his hands out of his pockets, +just as he had entered the police-station. He put a +pound note on the counter with a slap of his palm +and uttered the one word: “Pint.” He stared at the +counter until the drink was served. He put the +measure to his head, opened his throat and swallowed +the contents at one draught. He uttered a deep +sigh and handed the empty glass to the barman. +He nodded. When he received another pint and +his change, he walked over to the corner and sat +down.</p> + +<p>Now he definitely set out to form a plan of action. +It had been a habit with McPhillip and himself. +Whenever they had done any “stunt,” they immediately +went into a public-house, got drinks and set +about forming plans for an alibi.</p> + +<p>“Never bother about yer ‘getaway’ until yer job +is done,” used to be a motto of McPhillip’s.</p> + +<p>Suddenly Gypo realized what a clever fellow +McPhillip must really have been. He used to make +plans so easily. They jumped to his mind one after +the other, like lightning. Gypo had never given any +thought to the matter of plans. He often used to say +to McPhillip with a queer glassy look in his eyes: +“Mac, you bite the easy side o’ the cheese. I got to +do all the rough work an’ you do all the thinkin’. +Strikes me you get away with it easy, mate.”</p> + +<p>Now, for the first time, he realized the difficulty of +making a plan without McPhillip. When he had to +think it out for himself it appeared to be devilish +work. His brain got all in a tangle and he could +make a beginning nowhere. He gathered himself +together several times, with set lips and stiffened +back, like a horse stiffening for a great tug at an +immense weight, but it was no use. He could not +overcome the weight that seemed to fall on his brain +every time his sensibilities approached it, probing +tentatively for information. Sitting on a deal bench +at the rear of the bar, with his legs crossed and his +pint of porter in his right hand, held in front of him, +with his elbow resting on his knee and the froth of +the porter dripping from the glass slowly on to the +tip of his raised boot, he stared at the ground, in an +agony of complicated thought. His little tattered +brown hat, perched on the top of his skull, looked +like a magic charm, endowed with reason and +knowledge, mounting guard over his stupid strength.</p> + +<p>He had not even cleared his brain for a beginning +with this devilish work of making a plan when he was +interrupted by the arrival of Katie Fox. She had sat +down beside him before he knew she was there. He +was so immersed in his struggles that she nudged +him and spoke before he was aware of her +presence.</p> + +<p>“How’s things, Gypo?” she cried in her hard thin +voice, as she nudged him in the ribs. “Are ye flush +enough to give us a wet?”</p> + +<p>Gypo jumped to his feet, spilling half his pint. He +gazed at her with fright in his eyes and his chest +heaved. Then he recognized her and sat down +immediately, flurried and confused by his display of +excitement.</p> + +<p>“Hello, Katie,” he muttered, pretending to be +vexed, “ye shouldn’t come in that way on a fellah. +I look around me an’ there ye are proddin’ me in the +ribs. Why the divil didn’t ye shout same as ye +always do?”</p> + +<p>She put the backs of her thin, red-veined hands on +her hips and stared at him in amazement, partly real, +partly born of that love of emphatic gesture and +movement and speech which is a peculiar characteristic +of the women of the Dublin slums. Katie was +a woman of the slums. Her father had been an +employee of the Corporation and her mother was a +charwoman. As a girl Katie worked in a biscuit +factory. Her own beauty of body and the grinding +toil in the factory made her discontented. She +joined the Revolutionary Organization. That was +six years ago. After that, her first plunge from the +straight path of the tremendous respectability and +conservatism of the slum woman, she was led by +excess of feeling into one pitfall after another. +Finally she passed out of the ranks of respectability +altogether by being expelled from the Revolutionary +Organization on a charge of public prostitution. +Now she had become an abandoned woman, known +as such even among the prostitutes of the brothel +quarter, a drug fiend, a slattern, an irresponsible +creature. Traces of her young beauty still remained +in the deep blue eyes, that were melancholy and +tired and twitched at the edges, in her long lean +figure now grown emaciated, in her black hair that +strayed carelessly about her face from beneath the +rim of her ragged red hat. But the mouth, that tell-tale +register of vice, had completely lost the sumptuous +but delicate curves of innocent girlhood and +blossoming maturity. The lips hung down at the +sides. They were swollen in the middle. Their +colour had died out and had been renewed with loud +vulgarity by cheap paint. The poor tormented soul +peered out of the young face, old before the years had +time to wrinkle it, sad, hard and stupefied.</p> + +<p>She thrust out her little chin and turned her head +sideways, turning down the corners of her lips farther +at one side of her mouth.</p> + +<p>“I thought as much,” she said slowly, contorting +her lips and face as she spoke. “That’s why I came +in unknownst and sat down beside ye. I saw ye be +chance, me fine buck, as I was talkin’ to Biddy Mac +over at the corner opposite Kane’s. So I just +prowled in to see ye on the quiet. But it’s clear as +daylight that ye don’t want to see me. Not while ye +got money to fill yersel’ with porter. It was a +different story, wasn’t it, this mornin’ when ye begged +the price of a cup o’ tay off me, an’ me that didn’t +see the colour of a half-crown for three days runnin’. +Oh then——”</p> + +<p>“Now shut yer gob, will ye,” interrupted Gypo +excitedly. “It’s just like ye takin’ a man up wrong +that way. Sure I didn’t mane anythin’ like that +atall. Only ye just came in on me all of a sudden. +What are ye havin’?”</p> + +<p>Katie looked at him in high dudgeon, still with her +chin thrust out, her head turned sideways, her lips +turned downwards and her hands on her hips. She +murmured: “Double Gin,” without moving her eyes +from Gypo’s face. Gypo arose and slouched up to +the counter for the drink. Her eyes followed him +shrewdly and she kept nodding her head slowly at +his immense back.</p> + +<p>Her relationship with Gypo was of that irregular +kind which is hard to describe by means of one word. +She was undoubtedly not his wife and in the same +manner she could not be called his mistress. But +their relationship partook both of the nature of lawful +marriage and of the concubinage that is sanctified +by natural love. Katie loved Gypo because he was +strong, big, silent, perhaps also because he was +stupid and her ready slum “smartness” could always +outwit his lumbering brain. Whenever Gypo had +any money he spent it with her. Sometimes when he +was without any money, she brought him home with +her and provided him with his breakfast next +morning. On the whole they were good friends. During +the past six months after Gypo had been expelled +from the Revolutionary Organization and left without +friends or money or employment, Katie had stood +between him and death from exposure or starvation. +She loved him in her own amazing way. The last +remains of her womanhood loved him as she might +have loved a mate. But those shreds of love lived +charily among the rank weeds of vice that flourished +around them. It was only at times that they peeped +out and covered the desert waste of her soul with the +soft warmth and brilliance of their light. Each +kindly act of pity for the lumbering giant was +counteracted by a score of other acts that were vicious +and cruel. While Gypo, with the nonchalance of the +healthy strong man, took her for granted as if she +were a natural contrivance of life, like fresh air or +food. He would only notice her absence when she +was needed.</p> + +<p>He brought the gin and handed it to her. She took +it in silence. She sipped it slowly, holding it within +an inch of her lips, staring at the ground as she +drank, shivering now and again, as if the drink were +ice cold. Gypo watched her suspiciously out of the +corner of his eyes.</p> + +<p>“What brought ye around here anyway?” he said +at last.</p> + +<p>He was extremely irritated that she should have +come in on him, just at that moment, when he was +trying to make a plan, when he had the money of his +betrayal hot on his person, without being yet +embalmed by a plausible excuse for its presence. He +was irritated, but in a confused and ignorant way. +He had not reasoned out a plausible excuse, even for +his irritation.</p> + +<p>Katie held her empty glass upside down in her +hand and looked at him, with her blue eyes almost +shut.</p> + +<p>“Why, what’s the matter with ye, kiddo?” she +asked arrogantly, encouraged by the gin. “Why +shouldn’t I knock around here if I want to. I’m not +employed by a charitable institution at so much an +hour to keep out o’ yer honour’s way, ha, ha, when it’s +yer lordship’s pleasure to come into this pub. +There’s no law agin me comin’ around this part o’ +the city at this hour, is there?” She worked herself +into a fit of anger gradually as she spoke. She had +an idea that Gypo was concealing something important +from her and that her arrival at that moment +gave her some power over him. That peculiar intuition +of the slum woman could pierce the surface of +Gypo’s embarrassment, but without being able to +probe into the real nature of it. She pushed back +her coat with her left hand and put the back of her +hand against her reddish frayed blouse below the +heart. How slight her breasts were!</p> + +<p>“Now Katie—” began Gypo.</p> + +<p>But she interrupted him immediately. She had +been only waiting for him to begin to speak in order +to interrupt him. She was quite happy when given +the opportunity of a “barge” of this description.</p> + +<p>“Go on with ye,” she cried, “pug nose! I know +ye, Ya. You’re bum all right. Yer all right as long +as ye get nothin’. But as soon as ye can smell yersel’ +after a good meal an’ there a gingle in yer rags, +ye stick yer nose into the air an’ ye know nobody. +D’ye know what I’m goin’ to tell ye, Gypo? D’ye +know what I’m goin’ to tell ye? Yer a mane, lyin’, +deceitful twister an’ I got yer measure from now on. +Don’t look for nothin’ from me from now on, my fine +bucko. No then; ’twill be little use for ye.”</p> + +<p>Gypo became nervous and shifted his huge body. +He wanted to let his left hand fly out and hit her in +the jaw. One slight blow would make her senseless. +But he had never struck a woman, owing to some +obscure prejudice or other. Still, he was terribly +tired of her. Now that he had this money on his +person, without as yet having decided what to do +with it, he wanted to be free from her.</p> + +<p>“You shut up,” he cried angrily, “or I’ll fix ye. +Haven’t I given ye a drink?” Then he added +half-heartedly: “D’ye want another drink?”</p> + +<p>Katie was still staring at him. Suddenly a change +came over her. Something suggested itself to her +peculiar reason and she changed her attitude.</p> + +<p>“Don’t mind what I said now, Gypo,” she continued +in a low mournful voice, looking at the ground +with hanging lower lip, like a person overwhelmed +and utterly defeated by some persistent calamity. +“God Almighty, the world is so hard that a person +loses her mind altogether. Misery, misery, misery +an’ nothin’ but misery. You’re as bad off as mesel’, +Gypo, so ye know what I mane. No man has pity +on us. Every hand is agin us because we have got +nothin’. Why is that, will ye tell me, Gypo? Is +God Himself agin us too? Ha, ha, o’ course we +were both of us Communists and members o’ the +Revolutionary Organization, so we know there’s no +God. But supposin’ there was a God, what the hell +is He doin’——”</p> + +<p>“Katie,” cried Gypo angrily, “none o’ that talk. +Lave God alone.”</p> + +<p>“God forgive me, yer right,” cried Katie, +beginning to sob. But she pulled herself together +suddenly with surprising speed and turned to Gypo +almost sharply. Her eyes narrowed slightly and a +quaint weird smile lit up her face. There was a +trace of beauty in her face under the influence of +the smile, a trace of beauty and merriment. “Tell +us where ye got all the money, Gypo. Ye had +none this mornin’.”</p> + +<p>Gypo started in spite of himself and glanced at her +in terror. He struggled violently, trying to +formulate an excuse for his sudden wealth. He fumed +within himself for not having made a plan. +Unconsciously he cursed McPhillip, whom he had sent to +his death, for not having made a plan. He looked at +Katie with glaring eyes and open lips. Then he bent +towards her, tried to speak and said nothing. But +she misunderstood him.</p> + +<p>“Ya,” she said, “I knew ye were yellow. Have +ye robbed a church or what, an’ are ye afraid of bein’ +turned into a goat be the priests?”</p> + +<p>“Shut up,” he hissed suddenly, gripping at the +word “robbery” and hooking a plan on to it. It was +a customary word, a friendly thing that he +recognized, with which he felt at home. He bent down, +with quivering face, eager to hurl out the words of +his plan before he could forget them again. “It +wasn’t a church. It was a sailor off an American +ship. I went through him at the back o’ Cassidy’s +pub in Jerome Street. But if ye say a word ye know +what yer goin’ to get.”</p> + +<p>“Who? Me?” Katie laughed out loud and looked +at him with emphatic scorn over her shoulder. +“What d’ye take me for? An informer or what?”</p> + +<p>“Who’s an informer?” cried Gypo, gripping her +right knee with his left hand. The huge hand closed +about the thin frail knee and immediately the whole +leg went rigid. Katie’s whole body shrivelled at the +mere touch of the vast strength.</p> + +<p>There was silence for a second. Gypo stared at +Katie with a look of ignorant fear on his face. The +word had terrified and infuriated him. It was the +first time he had heard it uttered in the new sense +that it now held for him. Katie, hypnotized by the +face, panted and looked back at him.</p> + +<p>“What are ye talkin’ about informin’ for?” +panted Gypo again, tightening his grip on her knee. +He had not meant to hurt. He merely wanted to +give emphasis to his words.</p> + +<p>“Lemme go,” screamed Katie, unable to endure +the pain any longer and terrified by the look in +Gypo’s face and by his strange behaviour.</p> + +<p>Gypo let go immediately. The barman came +striding over, wiping his hands in his apron. He +pointed toward the door. Gypo got to his feet and +stared at the barman, glad to have a man in front of +him, against whom he could vent his ignorant rage. +He lowered his head and he was about to rush +forward when Katie hung on to him and cried out.</p> + +<p>“Come on, Gypo,” she cried rapidly, “let’s get +out of here. Let him alone, Barney. He’s got a +few pints on him. He didn’t mane any harm. +Come on, kid.”</p> + +<p>Gypo allowed himself to be dragged out backwards +by the right hand into the street. They stood +together on the kerbstone, with Katie’s arm +entwined in his.</p> + +<p>“Come on up to Biddy Burke’s place,” she +whispered in a friendly tone. “Come on up.”</p> + +<p>In front stretched a main road, brilliantly lighted +and thronged with people. The light, the people, +the suggestion of gaiety and of freedom attracted +Gypo. To the rear stretched a dark, evil-smelling +lane. It repelled him. There was where Katie +wanted to bring him, down towards the slum district +and the brothel quarter. Down there were his own +haunts, people who knew him. He feared the +darkness, the lurking shadows, the suggestion of men +hiding in alleyways to attack him. Out there in +front he could wander off, among strange people who +did not care a straw about informers.</p> + +<p>“Come on Gyp, down to Biddy’s and buy us a +sniff,” murmured Katie entreatingly, in a soft voice. +“Yer flush, aren’t ye? I know well them American +sailors carry a quare wad around with ’em. Let’s +walk along. I’m perished with the cold.”</p> + +<p>“No,” muttered Gypo in a surly voice. “I’m goin’ +down to the House to book a bed for the night.”</p> + +<p>He now remembered with pleasure that the reason +for his going to the police-station was the fact that +he wanted money for a bed. So why not go and buy +a bed? It was a good excuse to get rid of her.</p> + +<p>“What are ye talkin’ about a bed for?” cried +Katie angrily, clutching at his arm. Then her voice +softened again. There was an eager glitter in her +eyes. “Sure it’s not thinkin’ about a bed ye are +when ye got money in yer pocket. Haven’t I got +a bed anyway, an’ if it’s not good enough for ye, sure +we can get a bed at Biddy’s, seein’ ye have money in +yer pocket.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t want yer bed,” snarled Gypo, “an’ I’m +not goin’ near Biddy Burke’s. I been robbed by the +thievin’ old robber often enough.”</p> + +<p>“Ye don’t want me bed, don’t ye?” cried Katie, +losing her temper again completely. “Ye were glad +enough to have it last week when I brought ye in +outa the rain like a drownded rat. Wha’?”</p> + +<p>“Now I’ll give ye nothin’ for yer imperence,” +grumbled Gypo. “Yer too ignorant. That’s what +ye are.”</p> + +<p>She moved up under his chin and held her two +clenched fists to his jaws. They looked white and +tiny against the size of his face.</p> + +<p>“All right,” she hissed, “you watch out for yersel’, +Gypo Nolan.”</p> + +<p>She turned on her heel and went off at a fierce +walk to the left, muttering curses as she disappeared +rapidly into the darkness. Gypo stared after her, +listening. He strained his neck in an effort to catch +a final mumble of sharp words that floated up to him +through the dark lane, as her obscure figure drifted +around a corner. Then he shrugged his shoulders +with a gasp as if he had just watched a valuable +possession suddenly drop over a cliff. With his +hands in his trousers pockets he stared at the +ground.</p> + +<p>“Look here, Katie,” he called out suddenly, reaching +out his right hand impotently towards the corner +off the lane, around which she had swept. Then he +put his hand back into his pocket and gripped the +tight wad of Treasury notes. He wanted now to +give her some money. She had been good to him. +He began to walk up the lane slowly. There was no +need to hurry. He knew where to find her. He +must not let her go like that.</p> + +<p>But he had not gone ten yards before he halted +again. He turned about and walked back quickly +into the main road. He had suddenly remembered +a terrifying thing.</p> + +<p>Supposing somebody were to come into Biddy +Burke’s and say that Frank McPhillip had been +killed owing to information being given to the +police? They were sure to say that. They would +see him there with money in his pocket. They +would suspect. . . .</p> + +<p>He turned to the right, past the corner of the main +road. He went twenty yards down the street and +then brought his two feet together like a soldier +coming to a halt on parade. He wheeled inwards, +still in the same mechanical manner, towards a shop +window. He stood at ease, clasping his hands +behind his back in military manner. Somehow, it +gave peace to his distracted thoughts, as if he had +suddenly given over the responsibility of his thoughts +and actions to an imaginary superior officer.</p> + +<p>Into his resting mind pleasant memories came, +distant pleasant memories like day-dreams on a +summer day, dreamt on the banks of a rock-strewn +river, among the flowering heather. They were +memories of his youth. They came to him in a +strange bewildered manner, as if afraid of the dark, +ferocious mind into which they came. Gypo stared +at them fiercely, with bulging lips, as if they were +enemies taunting him. Then gradually he softened +towards them. Then a mad longing seized him for +the protection of the environment of his youth, the +country-side of a Tipperary village, the little farm, +the big red-faced healthy peasant who was his +father, his long-faced kind-hearted mother, who +hoped that he would become a priest.</p> + +<p>He wrinkled up his face and looked at his youth +intently. He stiffened himself, as if he were about +to hurl himself by sheer force back through the +intervening years, of sin and sorrow and misery, to the +peace and gentleness and monotony of life, in that +little village at the foot of the Galtees.</p> + +<p>Various, intimate, foolish, little recollections +crowded into his mind. He remembered goats, +asses’ foals, rocks in a mountain torrent, a saying of +the village smith, a glance from a girl, his first drink +of wine stolen in the sacristy of the parish church +while he was serving Mass. Thousands of memories +came and went rapidly. They passed like soldiers +before a saluting-point, some gay, some sad, some +dim, some distinct and almost articulate as if they +had happened a moment ago.</p> + +<p>Suddenly he felt a wet daub coming down each +cheek. He started. He was shedding tears. The +horror of the act made him stare wild eyed. He +swore aloud. He bared his teeth of their covering +of thick lips and ground them. His youth went +out like a candle that is quenched by a squall in a +long passage. The grinning spectre of the present +became real once more. He shut his mouth. He +sighed very deeply. Putting his hands in his pockets +again, he walked off at his habitual slouch, with +his head hanging slightly forward, hung on the pivot +of his neck like a punchball.</p> + +<p>“I must make a plan,” he said to himself once +more.</p> + +<p>Somehow he was convinced that the Revolutionary +Organization already suspected him of having given +information concerning McPhillip. He felt that he +was being sought for already. So he must make a +plan. He must have a plausible excuse.</p> + +<p>“If ye got a good aliby,” McPhillip used to say, +“the divil himself couldn’t fasten anythin’ on ye.”</p> + +<p>But how was he going to get an alibi for himself? +He walked the whole length of the road three times +irresolutely, with his eyes fixed on the ground. He +was unable to think of anything. His mind kept +branching off into the contemplation of silly things +that had nothing at all to do with the question, the +favourite for the Grand National and whether +Johnny Grimes, the comedian, had drowned himself +in the Canal or whether he had been murdered and +then thrown in; the two main questions that were +agitating the Dublin slums just then.</p> + +<p>At one moment he decided to go to the Dunboy +Lodging House, pay for a bed and go to sleep. But +immediately he was terrified at this suggestion. +They might know already that he had given +information. Then maybe, while he was asleep, somebody +would be sent into his little cell with a loaded +stick to murder him in his sleep. Or they might +give him “the bum’s rush,” breaking his neck silently +like a rabbit’s neck. He pictured the little narrow +wooden cells in the lodging house, the silence of the +night, broken only by the dismal sound of snoring on +all sides, an indiscriminate number of unknown people +snoring loudly, dreaming, grumbling, snoring and +sleeping in all directions, while <em>“they”</em> approached +silently to murder him.</p> + +<p>He shuddered. Perspiration stood out on his +forehead. Eagerly, with relief, he decided to keep +in the open, where he could use his hands and his +strength. If he were going to be murdered he would +be murdered with his hands gripping a dead throat.</p> + +<p>Then at last he stood stock-still and thumped +himself in the chest.</p> + +<p>“Well, I’m damned!” he cried. “Amn’t I an awful +fool? Why didn’t I think of it before? They’ll +be wonderin’ why I’m not there already. Everybody +in the town must ’a heard of it be now, an’ +me that was his pal an’ I not there to say a word to +his mother. They’ll surely suspect something if I +don’t go at once.”</p> + +<p>Narrowing his eyes, he set out at a smart pace in +the direction of McPhillip’s home in Titt Street. +He took his hands out of his pockets and swung them +by his sides after the manner of a policeman. He +threw his head back and towered like a giant over +those whom he passed.</p> + +<p>He passed them, almost over them, like a being +utterly remote, a unique creation.</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter" id="ch04"> + +<h2>Chapter IV</h2> + +<p>Titt Street was in turmoil like an ant-hill +that has been rooted up by the ponderous +hoof of a cow. Under the scattered street +lamps, between the parallel rows of two-storied, +red-brick houses, groups of wild-eyed men were talking. +The pale light of the lamps showed the drizzling rain +falling like steam on their rough, dirty clothes, on +their thick-veined necks, on their excited faces, on +their gnarled hands that were raised in gesticulation. +Their voices filled the hollow darkness of the street +with a hushed murmur, that rose and fell turbulently, +like the chattering of a torrent coming through +rocks. Their voices were nervous, as if they awaited +a storm at sea.</p> + +<p>Old women with shawls over their heads flitted +about like shadows. They darted from doorway to +doorway, talking, making threatening gestures at +something remote, crossing themselves with their +haggard faces turned upwards to the sky. Young +women walked arm-in-arm, slowly, up and down the +street. They looked at No. 44 as they passed it, in +silence, with awe in their open, red lips.</p> + +<p>No. 44 was the centre of interest. The horror +that had come to it had aroused the whole street. +It had aroused the whole quarter. Three streets +away, bar attendants stood gaping behind their +counters, while some man, with an excited red face +and a big mouth, recounted the manner of Frank +McPhillip’s death, with oaths and frenzied +gesticulations. Everywhere, in the streets, in the +public-houses, in the tenement kitchens, where old +red-nosed men craned forward their shrivelled necks to +hear the dreadful news, one word was whispered with +fear and hatred.</p> + +<p>It was the word “Informer.”</p> + +<p>Gypo heard that word as he reached the junction +of Titt Street and Bryan Road—a long wide road, +lined with little shops, the sidewalks strewn with +papers, little heaps of dirt in the gutters, two +tram-car lines rusted by the drizzling rain, groups of +loafers at every lamp-post, at the public-house doors +and on the Canal Bridge, where the road disappeared +abruptly over the horizon, as if it had fallen over a +precipice into space. He was passing Ryan’s public-house +that stood at the corner, half in Titt Street, +half in Bryan Road. The word came to him through +the open door of the public bar. He had slowed +down his pace on reaching the neighbourhood and +when he heard the word uttered, he brought his left +leg up to the right and instead of thrusting it +forward for another pace, he dropped it heavily but +noiselessly to the wet pavement of red and white +glazed brick diamonds, with which the front of the +public-house was decorated.</p> + +<p>A squall of wind came around the corner just then +and buffeted him about the body. He opened his +mouth and nostrils. He distended his eyes. He +thrust forward his head and listened.</p> + +<p>“There must ’a been information gev, ’cos how else +could they—” a tall lean man was saying, as he stood +in the middle of the sawdust-covered floor, holding +a pint of black frothing porter in his right +hand.</p> + +<p>Then a burly carter, with a grey sack around his +shoulders like a cape, jostled the man who was speaking, +in an awkward attempt to cross the floor through +the crowd. But the man had said enough. Gypo +knew that they were talking about the death of +Francis Joseph McPhillip and that they suspected that +information had been given.</p> + +<p>Again the idea came into his head that he must +form a plan without a moment’s delay. But the inside +of his head was perfectly empty, with his forehead +pressing against it, hot and congested, as if he +had been struck a violent blow with a flat stick. +The idea floundered about in his head, repeating +itself aimlessly, like a child calling for help in an +empty house. “No,” he muttered to himself, as he +gripped his clasp knife fiercely in his trousers +pocket, “I can’t make out anythin’ standin’ here in +the rain in front of a pub. Better go ahead.”</p> + +<p>He hurled himself around the corner against the +squall into Titt Street with almost drunken violence. +Then he realized with terror the fate that menaced +him if . . . He saw the groups under the +lamp-posts. He saw the flitting women. He saw the +youths, hushed, strained, expectant. He heard the +rumble of human sound. The dark, sombre, mean +street that had been familiar to him until now, +suddenly appeared strange, as if he had never seen it +before, as if it had suddenly become inhabited by +dread monsters that were intent on devouring him. +It appeared to him rather, that he had wandered, +through a foolish error of judgment, into a strange +and hostile foreign country where he did not know +the language.</p> + +<p>He glared about him aggressively, as he walked up +the street. He planted his feet on the ground +firmly, walking with his legs wide apart, with his +shoulders squared, with his head thrust forward into +the wind like the jib boom of a ship.</p> + +<p>As he was passing an open doorway somebody +cried “hist.” He halted like a challenged sentry. +He wheeled savagely towards the doorway and called +out.</p> + +<p>“Who are cryin’ hist after?”</p> + +<p>“It’s only me,” chirped an old lady in a clean +white apron, a woman he knew well. “I thought ye +were Jim Delaney, the coalheaver. I got to whisper +on account o’ me throat. I got a cold a fortnight +ago, scrubbin’ floors out at Clontarf, an’ it’s getting +worse instead of better. The doctor——”</p> + +<p>But Gypo glanced angrily at her bandaged throat +and her dim blue eyes and passed on with a grunt +without listening to her further. He arrived at No. +44 and entered through the open door without +knocking.</p> + +<p>No. 44 was the most respectable house in the +street. Its red-brick front was cleaner than the +other fronts. Its parlour window was unbroken and +was decorated with clean curtains of Nottingham +lace. Its door was freshly painted black. Its +owner Jack McPhillip, the bricklayer, had already +begun the ascent from the working class to the +middle class. He was a Socialist and chairman of his +branch of the trade union, but a thoroughly respectable, +conservative Socialist, utterly fanatical in his +hatred of the status of a working man. The whole +house was in keeping with his views on life. The +door opened on a little narrow hall, with the +stair-way rising midway in it. The stair-way was spotlessly +clean, with brightly polished brass rods holding +down the well-washed linoleum carpet that struggled +upwards rigidly to the top of it. From the door, in +daytime, the backyard could be seen. In the +backyard there were outhouses and stables, for Jack +McPhillip kept a yellow she-goat, three pigs, a flock of +white hens and a little pony and trap, in which he +was in the habit of driving out into the country on +Sundays, in summer, with his wife, to visit his wife’s +relatives at Talmuc. To the right of the hall there +were two doors. The first door opened into the +parlour. In the parlour there was a piano, eight chairs +of all sizes and sorts, innumerable photographs, +“ornaments,” and absolutely no room for anybody to +move about without touching something or other. +The second door opened into the kitchen, a large +clean room with a cement floor, an open grate and a +narrow bed in the corner farthest from the door. +The bed belonged to old Ned Lawless, the epileptic +relative of Mrs. McPhillip. He lived in the house +and received his meals and half a crown per week, in +exchange for his labours in looking after the backyard. +He was never clean, the only dirty thing in the +house. On the second floor there were three rooms. +One was used by the old couple. The second by the +only daughter Mary, a girl of twenty-one who worked +in the city as a clerk, in the offices of Gogarty and +Hogan, solicitors and commissioners for oaths. The +third room, opening on the backyard, had been +closed for six months. It had been Francis’s +bedroom. That evening he had just entered it to go to +bed when the police arrived.</p> + +<p>When Gypo entered, the house was crowded with +neighbours who had come in to sympathize. Some +were even standing in the hallway. Gypo walked +through the hallway and pushed his way into the +kitchen. Nobody noticed him. He sat down on the +floor to the left of the door, with his back to the wall +and his right hand grasping his left wrist in front of +his drawn-up knees. He sat in silence for almost a +minute waiting for an opportunity to speak to Mrs. +McPhillip. He could see her through the people in +the room, sitting on a chair to the right of the fire. +She had black wooden rosary beads wound round +and round her fingers. There were tears in her pale +blue eyes and streaming down her great white fat +cheeks. Her corpulent body flowed over the chair +on all sides like a load of hay on a cart. Her long +check apron hid her feet. She was looking dimly at +the fire, murmuring prayers silently with her lips. +She nodded her head now and again in answer to +something that was said to her.</p> + +<p>She held Gypo’s attention like a powerful magnet. +Even when somebody came between his eyes and her +body, he stared through the intervening body as if +it were transparent. His eyes were centred on her +forehead and on her grey-white hair, that had a +yellowish sheen at the top of the skull where the +parting was. He was thinking how good she had been +to him. She had often fed him. More precious +still, she always had a word of sympathy for him, a +kind look, a tender, soft, smooth touch of the hand +on his shoulder! These were the things his strange +soul remembered and treasured. There were no +others who were soft and gentle to him like she was. +Often when he and Francis came into the house at +dawn, after having done some revolutionary “stunt,” +she used to get up, in her bare fat feet, with a skirt +drawn over her night-dress. She used to move +about silently with quivering lips, cooking breakfast. +It was a huge meal from her hands, an indiscriminate +lavish Irish meal, sausages, eggs, bacon, all +together on one plate.</p> + +<p>And she would often press half a crown into +Gypo’s hand when nobody was looking, whispering: +“May the Virgin protect ye an’ won’t ye look after +Frankie an’ see that he comes to no harm.”</p> + +<p>“She is a good woman,” thought Gypo, +impersonally, looking at her.</p> + +<p>Then the kitchen emptied suddenly in the rear of +a fat short man with a pompous appearance, who +wore a dark raincoat and a black bowler hat. Every +one made way for him going out the door and there +were whispers. Some scowled at him angrily, but it +was obvious that everybody had a great respect for +him and envied him, even those that scowled at him. +He was an important Labour politician, the parliamentary +representative of the constituency that comprised +Titt Street and the surrounding slums. This +important politician had been a bricklayer with Jack +McPhillip in his youth and Jack McPhillip was still +his main supporter.</p> + +<p>When the politician had disappeared there were +only five people left in the room, other than Jack +McPhillip and his wife. Three men in the corner by +the window, to the left of Gypo, had their heads +close together, whispering with that sudden intimacy +that is born of the presence of a calamity, or of +something that has a common interest. Gypo knew +two of them. Two of them were members of the +Revolutionary Organization.</p> + +<p>“That skunk Bartly Mulholland is here,” muttered +Gypo to himself, “an’ that’s Tommy Connor +with him. Mulholland is lookin’ for Frankie +McPhillip’s job on the Intelligence Department, I +believe; an’ I suppose that big stiff Connor is trainin’ +to be his butty. Huh.”</p> + +<p>Jack McPhillip sat on the narrow bed in the other +corner, almost opposite Gypo. He was talking to +two women, who had chairs close to the bed. They +had pushed in to talk to McPhillip as soon as the +politician had left. They were nodding their heads +and fidgeting, with that amazing prodigality of +emotion, which women of the very lowest rung of the +middle class ladder display, when in the presence +of members of the working class who are still <i>in +puris naturalibus</i>. One was the wife of the Titt +Street “small grocer.” The other was the wife of +John Kennedy the lorry driver, who had just set up +in business “for himself.”</p> + +<p>Jack McPhillip sat on the bed, with his right +shoulder leaning against the pillow. One foot was +almost on the floor. The other foot was on the bed. +He held his right hand, palm outwards, in front of +his face, as if he were trying to drive away some +imaginary idea, as he talked.</p> + +<p>“There ye are now,” he was saying; “see what that +man has done for himsel’ in life. That’s what every +man should aim at doin’, instead of jig actin’ and +endin’ up by bringin’ disgrace on his class an’ on his +family. Johnny Daly is a member o’ Parliament +this day because he spent any money and time he +had to spare on his education. He looked after his +business and he did his best to educate and better +the condition of his fellow-men. That’s what every +man should do. But my son . . . I put him into a +good job as an insurance agent an’ if he had minded +himself he’d be well on his way now towards a +respectable position in life for himself, but instead o’ +that——”</p> + +<p>Suddenly there was an amazing interruption that +caused everybody to start. Gypo had spoken in a +deep thunderous voice that filled the whole house.</p> + +<p>“I’m sorry for yer trouble, Mrs. McPhillip,” he +cried.</p> + +<p>The sentence re-echoed in the silence that +followed it. It had been uttered in a shout. Gypo’s +voice had suddenly broken loose from his lungs into +a spontaneous expression of the emotion that shook +him into a passion of feeling, looking at Mrs. +McPhillip. He felt suddenly that he must express that +feeling forcibly. Not by a whisper, or a plain +restrained statement, but by a savage shout that would +brook no contradiction. The shout wandered about +in the room long after its sound had vanished. +Nobody spoke. Its force was too tremendous. Everybody, +for some amazing reason or other, sniffed at +the smell of fried sausages that now permeated the +atmosphere of the kitchen. The smell came from +the pan still left on the fireplace, containing the +sausages that had been cooking for Francis Joseph +McPhillip’s supper when the police came. He had been +so tired that he told his mother to bring his supper to +him in bed. So they still remained there, on the side +of the fireplace, forgotten.</p> + +<p>Then the initial amazement wore off and everybody +looked at Gypo. They saw him sitting on the +floor, doubled up, bulky in his blue dungarees that +clung about his thighs like a swimming suit, with +his little round hat perched on his massive head, still +staring at Mrs. McPhillip’s face as if drawn by a +magnet, unconscious of the amazement he had +caused by his shout.</p> + +<p>And alone of all the people in the room, Mrs. +McPhillip was not amazed. She had not started. +She had not moved her eyes. Her lips still moved in +prayer. Her mind was drawn by another magnet to +the contemplation of something utterly remote from +the people in that room, utterly remote from life, to +the contemplation of something that had its roots +in the mystic boundaries of eternity.</p> + +<p>Then Jack McPhillip jumped to a sitting posture +on the bed. He grabbed at the old tweed cap that +had fallen off his grizzled grey head.</p> + +<p>“Oh, it’s you that’s in it, is it?” he cried. “Ye +son o’ damnation!”</p> + +<p>He glared at Gypo so ferociously that his face +began to twitch. His face was so burned by the sun +that it was almost black at a distance. At close +quarters it looked a reddish brown. He had a glass +eye. The other eye looked straight across the glass +one, as if guarding it. He had to look away from a +man in order to see him. This distortion in his +vision had always filled his wife with terror, so that +now she trembled whenever he looked at her. It +was so uncanny, his looking at space like that. His +body was short and slight. He was fifty years old.</p> + +<p>He jumped off the bed and stood on the floor in his +grey socks, his blue waistcoat unbuttoned, the little +white patch of linen on the abdomen of his grey flannel +shirt puffing in and out with his heavy breathing, +his throat contorting, his hands gripping and +ungripping restlessly.</p> + +<p>Mrs. McPhillip had awakened from her reverie +as soon as her husband spoke. She had started up +and gripped her breast over her heart with a dumb +exclamation. Then she rubbed her two eyes hurriedly +and looked at him. As soon as she saw him, +her eyes grew dim again and her body subsided into +the chair from which it had risen slightly.</p> + +<p>“Jack,” she cried in an agonized voice, “Jack! +Jack, leave him alone. He was Frankie’s friend. +He was a friend of me dead boy’s. Let him alone. +What’s done is done.”</p> + +<p>“Be damned to that for a story,” cried Jack. His +voice was weak and jerky, just like the voice of his +dead son. “A friend d’ye call him? What kind of +friend d’ye call that waster that never did a day’s +work in his life? That ex-policeman! He was +even driven outa the police. That’s fine company +for yer son, Maggie. It’s the likes o’ him that’s +brought Frankie to his death an’ destruction. Them +an’ their revolutions. It’s in Russia they should be +where they could act the cannibal as much as they +like, instead of leadin’ good honest Irishmen astray. +Why don’t they get out of here and go back to +England where they came from, with their rotten gold, +gev to them be the Orangemen to turn Ireland into +an uproar, so that the Freemasons could step in +again and capture it. Ah-h-h-h, I’d like to get me +fingers on yer throat, ye——”</p> + +<p>He was rushing across the floor at Gypo, but the +three men had jumped up and caught him. They +held him back. Gypo stared at him, as if in perplexity, +without moving. But the muscles of his shoulders +stiffened, almost unconsciously. His eyes wandered +slowly from the fuming husband to the sobbing +wife, who had again turned to the fire.</p> + +<p>Then the people from the parlour rushed into the +kitchen, attracted by the shouting. They were +headed by Mary McPhillip, the daughter of the +house. She was a handsome young woman, with a +full figure, plump, with red cheeks, a firm jaw, +auburn hair cropped in the current fashion, blue eyes +that had a “sensible” look in them and a rather large +mouth that was opened wide by her excitement. +Every bit of her except her mouth belonged to an +average Irishwoman of the middle class. The +mouth was a product of the slums. Its size and +its propensity for disclosing the state of the mind +by exaggerated movement, which is the hallmark of +the slum girl, belied the neat elegance of the rest +of the body and of all the clothes. She was still +dressed just as she had arrived from the office, in +a smart navy-blue costume which she had made +herself. The skirt was rather short, in the current +fashion, and she stood with her feet fairly wide +apart, in the arrogant posture of a woman of good +family. Her well-shaped calves were covered with +thin black silk stockings. But she had her hands +on her hips, unconsciously, as she stood in front of +the indiscriminate crowd that had followed her in +from the parlour, to find out what had caused the +disturbance in the kitchen.</p> + +<p>“What’s the row about, father?” she said.</p> + +<p>The accent was good, but a little too good. It was +too refined. The pronunciation of the words was too +correct. It had not that careless certainty of the +born lady. She spoke in an angry tenor voice, in +the rich soft tones of the Midlands, her mother’s +birthplace. Her voice had the softness of butter, +that voice which patriotic Irishmen always associate +with kindness and unassailable innocence and virtue, +but which is really the natural mask of a stern, +resolute character.</p> + +<p>“Aren’t we bad enough,” she continued, “without +your acting like a drunken tramp? Shut up and +don’t disgrace yourself.” She stamped her right +foot and cried again: “Shut up.”</p> + +<p>The father relaxed immediately. He began to +tremble slightly. He was very much afraid of his +daughter. In spite of the power of vituperation +which he undoubtedly possessed, he had been afraid +of both his children. When Francis had become +discontented and joined the Revolutionary Organization, +the father had poured out threats and abuse for +hours, almost every night, for the edification of his +wife, but when the son came in he said nothing. He +was a weak, nervous character, slightly hysterical, +capable of committing any act on the spur of the +moment, but incapable of pursuing a logical course +of action resolutely. But his children were resolute. +The son was resolute in his hatred of existing +conditions of society. He was a resolute, determined +revolutionary, with his father’s energy. The daughter +was resolute in her determination to get out of +the slums.</p> + +<p>The father slipped out of the hands of the men +that were holding him and moved backwards until +he reached the bed. He sat down on it without +looking at it. He wiped his forehead with his +sleeve although it was perfectly dry. But it had +a prickly feeling in it, as if scores of needles had +thrust themselves out from his brain through it. +He always felt like that when he got an attack of +nerves, especially since his son became a revolutionary, +and it became known that his activities were +being watched at police headquarters.</p> + +<p>He looked at his daughter, at first in a cowed +fashion. He was afraid of her, because she had +become what he had urged her from her infancy to +become, “a lady.” He was afraid of her because she +was so well educated, because she had such “swell” +friends, because she dressed so well, because she +washed herself several times a day, because she +spoke properly. But then he became irritated with +all this and remembered that he himself was a +Socialist, the chairman of his branch of the trade +union, a political leader in the district, that all men +were free and equal and . . . all the pet phrases +with which respectable Socialists delude themselves +into the belief that they are philosophers and men +of principle. He spoke with a ring of indignation +and of warning in his voice.</p> + +<p>“Am I to be called a tramp by me own daughter +in me own house,” he cried, “when I tell this +ruffian his true character? Yes, an’ every other +ruffian that’s the curse o’ the workin’-class movement +with their talk of violence an’ murder an’ +revolution. All me life I have stood straight for the +cause of me fellow-workers. I was one o’ the first +men to stand up for Connolly an’ the cause o’ +Socialism, but I always said that the greatest enemies +o’ the workin’ class were those o’ their own kind +that advocated violence. I . . .”</p> + +<p>“I told you to shut up,” said Mary in a calm, low +voice, as she walked over to the bed, with her hands +still on her hips. “It’s just like you,” she almost +hissed, putting her doubled fists into the little +pockets of her jacket. “It’s just like you to go back on +your own son.”</p> + +<p>She did not know why she was saying this, but +she felt some force driving her on in opposition to +her father, in defence of her dead brother. Perhaps +it was the audience she had behind her. Because, +strangely enough, she herself hated Frankie for +belonging to the Revolutionary Organization, since she +got a position two years before as clerk in the offices +of Gogarty and Hogan. Before that she had been a +revolutionary herself, but not a member of any +organization. She used to attend meetings and cheer +and get into arguments with irritated old gentlemen, +etc. But during the past two years her outlook on +life had undergone a subtle change, gradual but +definite. At first she began to get “disillusioned,” as +she used to tell Francis, with the blasé air of a young +girl of nineteen. Then she used to lecture him on +the desirability of keeping better company. This +was at the time when she made the acquaintance of +Joseph Augustine Short, a young gentleman who was +serving his apprenticeship with Gogarty and Hogan +and wore plus fours and left Harcourt Street Station +every Sunday morning, to play golf down the +country somewhere. Finally, she became opposed violently +“to the whole theory of revolution,” as being +degenerating and “subversive of all moral ideas.” +She became religious and got the idea into her head +that she could convert Commandant Dan Gallagher, +the leader of the revolutionary movement. All this +later development had been quite recent, however, +and had not matured fully in her character. It was +yet merely plastic. It had not become a fixed habit +of thought, surrounded by deep and bitter prejudices, +that form themselves into “firm convictions.”</p> + +<p>For that reason she had responded suddenly to +that strange exaltation, born of hatred for the law, +which is traditional and hereditary in the slums. +The one glorious romance of the slums is the feeling +of intense hatred against the oppressive hand of the +law, which sometimes stretches out to strike some +one, during a street row, during an industrial +dispute, during a Nationalist uprising. It is a clarion +call to all the spiritual emotion that finds no other +means of expression in that sordid environment, +neither in art, nor in industry, nor in commercial +undertakings, nor in the more reasonable searchings +for a religious understanding of the universal +creation.</p> + +<p>“I stand by what Frankie has done,” she cried, +turning to the people. “I don’t agree with him in +politics, but every man has a right to his opinions +and every man should fight for his rights according +to . . .” she got confused and stammered a little. +Then she raised her hand suddenly with an enthusiastic +gesture and cried in a loud voice: “He was +my brother anyway and I’m going to stand up for +him.”</p> + +<p>Then she suddenly put her handkerchief to her +nose and blew it fiercely. There was a loud murmur +of applause. The father made a half-hearted +attempt to say something, but he subsided. Mrs. +McPhillip was heard to mumble something, but nobody +paid any attention to her. Nobody noticed her except +Gypo, who still sat on the floor staring at her, +fondling the memory of her past goodness to him, +like a sumptuous luxury that he must soon +relinquish. Although he had been the cause of all the +excitement, he was now forgotten in the still greater +excitement, caused by the argument between the +father and daughter of the dead revolutionary.</p> + +<p>Then Mary turned to Gypo and addressed him.</p> + +<p>“If you were a friend of my brother,” she said, +“you are quite welcome here. Come into the +parlour a minute. I want to talk to you.”</p> + +<p>Gypo started and looked at Mary with his tufted +eyebrows twitching ominously like snouts. But he +said nothing. She was embarrassed by the uncouth +stare and flushed slightly. She coughed in her +throat and put her fingers to her lips. She began +to talk rapidly, as if apologizing to the uncouth giant +for having had the temerity to address him a request.</p> + +<p>“It’s because Frankie told us that he met you in +the Dunboy Lodging House before he came here. +You are the only one he met in town before he came +in here, so I thought maybe that . . . you might be +able . . .”</p> + +<p>She stopped in confusion, amazed at the startling +change that had come over Gypo. He had become +seized by some violent emotion as she spoke until +his face contorted as if he were gazing at some +awe-inspiring horror. Then she stopped. His face +stood still gaping at her. Then for some reason or +other he jumped to his feet, shouting as he did so +at the top of his voice: “All right.”</p> + +<p>As he bent his head and the upper part of his body +to jump to his feet, his right trousers pocket was +turned mouth to the ground. Four silver coins fell +to the cement floor with a rattling noise. These +coins were the change he had received in the +public-house.</p> + +<p>He was petrified. Every muscle in his body stiffened. +His head stood still. His jaws set like the +teeth of a bear trap that has been sprung fruitlessly. +Behind his eyes he felt the delicious cold and +congealed sensation of being about to fight a desperate +and bloody battle. For he was certain that the four +white silver coins lying nakedly, ever so nakedly, on +the floor, were as indicative of his betrayal of his +comrade as a confession uttered aloud in a crowded +market-place.</p> + +<p>Somebody stooped to pick up the coins.</p> + +<p>“Let them alone,” shouted Gypo.</p> + +<p>He swooped down to the floor and his right palm, +spread flat, covered the coins with the dull sound of +a heavy dead fish falling on an iron deck.</p> + +<p>“I only wanted to hand them to ye, Gypo,” panted +the weazened flour-mill worker who had stooped to +pick them up. He had been knocked to his knees +by Gypo’s swoop.</p> + +<p>Gypo took no notice of the explanation. As he +collected the coins in his left fist and rose again, +leaning on his right hand, he was listening, waiting +for the attack.</p> + +<p>But there was no attack. Everybody was +amazed, mesmerized by the curious movements of +the irritated giant. They stared with open mouths, +all except Bartly Mulholland and Tommy Connor, +who stood in the background, looking curiously at +one another with narrowed eyes. Darting his eyes +around the room Gypo caught sight of the two of +them. Spurred by some sudden impulse he held up +his right hand over his head, he stamped his right +foot, he threw back his head and shouted, looking +straight upwards:</p> + +<p>“I swear before Almighty God that I warned him +to keep away from the house.”</p> + +<p>There was a dead silence for three seconds. Then +a perceptible shudder ran through the room. Everybody +remembered with horror that there was a suspicion +abroad, a suspicion that an informer had +betrayed Francis Joseph McPhillip. Informer! A +horror to be understood fully only by an Irish mind. +For an awful moment each one present suspected +himself or herself. Then each looked at his or her +neighbour. Gradually rage took the place of fear. +But it had no direction. Even the most daring +gasped when their minds suggested, that possibly the +great fierce giant might have had . . . Impossible!</p> + +<p>“There’s no man suspects ye, Gypo. Ye needn’t +be afraid of that,” cried Tommy Connor, the huge +red-faced docker with immense jaws like a bullock, +who had been whispering to Bartly Mulholland.</p> + +<p>He had spoken spontaneously with a queer note +of anger in his voice.</p> + +<p>“Nobody suspects ye. Good God, man! . . .”</p> + +<p>There was a chorus of agreement. Everybody +was eager to assent to the statement that Connor +had made. Somebody put his hand on Gypo’s +shoulder and began to say: “Sure it’s well known +that . . .”</p> + +<p>But Gypo elbowed the man away fiercely and set +out hurriedly across the floor towards Mrs. McPhillip. +He elbowed the people out of his way without +looking at them. He stood in front of Mrs. +McPhillip. He stared at her impassively for a few +moments. Then he put his hand slowly to his head +and took off his hat. He felt moved by an +incontrollable impulse. All his actions had completed +themselves before his mind was aware of them. His +mind was struggling along aimlessly in pursuit of +his actions, impotently deprecating them and +whispering warnings. But it was powerless.</p> + +<p>This impulse that had possession of him now was +of the same origin as the one that controlled him +when he was looking into the shop window +thinking of his youth.</p> + +<p>He was beyond himself. His lips quivered. +His throat got stuffed. He swallowed his breath +with an articulate sound, resembling a cry of pain. +He held out his left hand towards Mrs. McPhillip. +He opened the hand slowly. The four white silver +coins lay there.</p> + +<p>“Take it,” he muttered. “Ye were good to me an’ +I’m sorry for yer trouble.”</p> + +<p>He felt a mad desire to pull out the roll of notes +and give them to her also, but the very thought of +such a mad action made him shiver. Instead he +dropped the four coins into Mrs. McPhillip’s lap.</p> + +<p>Mrs. McPhillip glanced at the money and then +burst into loud sobs. The sound maddened Gypo. +He turned about and rushed towards the door. He +stubbed his foot against the door-jamb and hurtled +into the hall. He rushed along the passage, cursing +and striking furiously at everybody that came in his +way. He stood outside the street door and breathed +deeply.</p> + +<p>Two men rushed out after him. They were Bartly +Mulholland and Tommy Connor, the docker.</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter" id="ch05"> + +<h2>Chapter V</h2> + +<p>“Gypo!”</p> + +<p>Gypo had taken three steps down the street +when his name came to him through the +darkness, uttered in that long-drawn-out whisper +which is the customary intonation among revolutionaries. +He contracted his back suddenly like an ass +that has been struck with violence. Then he halted. +He did not turn about or reply. He waited. He +listened with a beating heart to the slow footsteps +that came up to him from behind. One, two, three, +four . . . they stopped. Gypo looked to his left. +Bartly Mulholland was standing there.</p> + +<p>The two of them stood in front of a window +through which lamp-light was streaming, across +Gypo’s chest on to Mulholland’s face. Mulholland’s +yellow face looked almost black in the lamp-light. +It was furrowed vertically from the temples to the +jaws, with deep black furrows. The mouth was large +and open, fixed in a perpetual grin that had absolutely +no merriment in it, that fixed grin of sardonic +contempt that is nearly always seen on the faces of men +who make a business of concealing their thoughts. +The nose was long and narrow. The ears were large. +The forehead was furrowed horizontally. The skin +on the forehead was very white in contrast to the +dark skin on the cheeks. The furrows on the forehead +were very shallow and narrow, like thin lines +drawn with a sharp pencil. In fact, the whole +appearance of the face was that of an artificial face, +such as that produced in the dressing-room of an +actor by means of paints, etc. This suggestion was +strengthened by the appearance of the hair that +straggled in loose wisps from beneath the +shovel-shaped peak of the grey tweed cap. The hair +appeared to be a dirty brown wig, much the worse for +wear. But neither the hair nor any portion of the +face was artificial. Everything had come from the +hand of Nature, which seemed, by some peculiar +whimsey, to have cast this individual for the rôle of +a conspirator. The face was the face of a clown to +hide the conspirator’s eyes, except from a very close +scrutiny. The eyes were the colour of sea water that +is dirty with grey sand. These eyes are sometimes +described as watery blue, but it is a totally wrong +description. There was an indescribable coldness +and depth in them which it is beyond the power of +any colour to describe. They stared without a movement +of the pupils or of the lashes at Gypo’s face, +expressing no emotion whatever. They were not +doors of the soul like ordinary eyes, but spy holes. +They stared glassily like a cat’s eyes.</p> + +<p>This curious creature was dressed like a workman, +in heavy hobnailed boots, brown corduroy trousers +with strings tied around the legs below the knees, a +black handkerchief tied in sailor fashion around his +neck and an old grey tweed coat that almost reached +half-way down his thighs. His hands were stuck +deep down in the pockets of his coat.</p> + +<p>“Where’s yer hurry takin’ ye, Gypo?” he drawled +in a low lazy voice, as if he were half-drunk or lying +on his back in a sunny place on a hot summer’s day.</p> + +<p>“Who’s in a hurry?” growled Gypo. “How d’ye +make out I’m in a hurry?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, nothin’ atall. Don’t get yer rag out, Gypo. +Ye might talk to the people. We never see ye atall +now since ye left the Organization. Are ye +workin’?”</p> + +<p>“No,” snapped Gypo angrily. The short ejaculation +coming from his thick lips sounded like a solitary +gunshot coming a long way over still air. “I ain’t +workin’ an’ all o’ you fellahs, that were supposed to +be comrades o’ mine, take damn good care to keep +out o’ the way, for fear I might ask ye for the price +of a feed or a flop. Yer a quare lot o’ Communists.”</p> + +<p>Mulholland drew himself in at the middle, emitted +his breath, shrugged his shoulders, thrust out his +right foot and leaned his weight backwards heavily +on his left foot. Then he turned his head up sideways +to let the drizzling rain beat on the back of his +neck instead of on his face. The grin left his mouth +and for a moment he appeared to have become angry.</p> + +<p>“Ye don’t seem to be in any need o’ money +to-night, Gypo,” he breathed ever so gently.</p> + +<p>Then just as suddenly he broke into an almost +fawning and ingratiating smile. He continued in +his ordinary lazy voice:</p> + +<p>“Don’t be tryin’ to make out yer broke, after me +seein’ the money that fell outa yer pocket in the +kitchen beyond just now. Aren’t ye goin’ to stand us +a wet?”</p> + +<p>Gypo had begun to shiver. He shivered with +minute movements, just as a massive tree shivers, +when the forest earth is shaken beneath it by a heavy +concussion. Then suddenly he recovered himself. +Without pausing to think, he shot out both hands +simultaneously like piston-rods. Mulholland gasped +as the two huge hands closed about his throat. He +struck out helplessly with his own hands at Gypo’s +body. His blows were as ineffective as the flapping +of a linnet’s wings against its cage. Gypo’s face was +lit with a demoniac pleasure as he raised +Mulholland’s body from the ground, clutching it by the +throat with his two hands. He raised it up like a +book which he wanted to read, until Mulholland’s +eyes were level with his own. Then they both looked +at one another.</p> + +<p>Mulholland’s eyes were still cold and glassy, +impenetrable and absolutely without emotion. Gypo’s +eyes were ferocious and eager, full of a mad savage +joy. His mouth had shut tight and the skin had run +taut over the glossy humps on his face, so that his +face looked like tanned pigskin. Mulholland’s +tongue was hanging out.</p> + +<p>Then Gypo groaned and prepared to crush out +Mulholland’s life between his thick fingers, when he +was disturbed by a shout from behind. He dropped +Mulholland to the street like a bag and whirled +about. Tommy Connor had rushed up from the +doorway of No. 44 where he had been waiting. He +was standing now with his mouth wide open in +astonishment and terror.</p> + +<p>“What’s wrong, boys?” he cried. “In the name o’ +God what are ye up to?”</p> + +<p>“He suspects me,” cried Gypo, “and . . .” Then +he sank into silence, unable to say any more. His +unsatisfied fury choked him.</p> + +<p>“Suspects ye of what?” cried Connor. “What +d’ye say he suspects ye of?”</p> + +<p>“I didn’t suspect him of anythin’ atall,” cried +Mulholland, rising to his feet slowly. His face was +contorting with pain. “I only asked him to——”</p> + +<p>“Yer a liar, ye did,” bellowed Gypo. “Ye suspect +me, an’ well I know ye, Bartly Mulholland. +D’ye think I don’t know ye an’ all about ye? Ye +got a grudge agin me an’ Frankie McPhillip this +long time. Don’t I know yer Intelligence Officer for +No. 3 Area an’ that yer nosin’ around now——”</p> + +<p>“Shut up or I’ll plug ye where ye stand,” hissed +Connor, ramming the muzzle of his revolver into +Gypo’s side. “Don’t ye know there are people +listenin’? D’ye want to let the dogs o’ the street +know the secrets o’ the Organization that ye swore +on yer oath to kape?” He panted and continued in +a lower voice still: “Are ye mad or are ye lookin’ +to get plugged?”</p> + +<p>Gypo’s mouth remained open in the act of beginning +a word, but he did not utter the word. He half-turned +his body in order to look into Connor’s face. +He saw it, big, angry, menacing, with the nostrils +distended, so that the insides, blackened with coal, +were visible. The face was within four inches of +Gypo’s face. Connor’s revolver muzzle was pressing +into Gypo’s right armpit. Gypo feared neither the +face nor the revolver. He stared with wrinkled +forehead at Connor, knowing that he could crush him +and Mulholland, both together, crush them to death, +to a shapeless pulp, by clasping them in his arms.</p> + +<p>But they were not merely two men, two human +beings. They were something more than that. +They represented the Revolutionary Organization. +They were merely cogs in the wheel of that +Organization. That was what he feared, what rendered him +powerless. He feared that mysterious, intangible +thing, that was all brain and no body. An +intelligence without a body. A thing that was full of +plans, implacable, reaching out everywhere invisibly, +with invisible tentacles like a supernatural monster. +A thing that was like a religion, mysterious, occult, +devilish.</p> + +<p>Frankie McPhillip had once told him that they +tracked a man to the Argentine Republic, somewhere +the other side of the world. Shot him dead in a +lodging-house at night too, without saying a word. +What d’ye think of that?</p> + +<p>“All right,” he said at last, “put away yer gat, +Tommy. I’ll stay quiet.”</p> + +<p>A few people had gathered on the far side of the +street and were looking on curiously. An immense +crowd would have already gathered on ordinary +occasions, but there was tension and anxiety in the +district that night. Shooting might begin at any +minute. It was always so. One death brings another +in its train. Each man thought this in his own +mind, although nobody breathed a word. It was a +kind of silent terror.</p> + +<p>“Come on, boys,” said Connor, “let’s get away +from here. We’re gatherin’ a crowd.”</p> + +<p>“Come on down to Ryan’s,” whispered Mulholland +to Gypo, in his usual lazy, insinuating voice, as if +nothing had happened, “Commandant Gallagher is +down there. He wants to see ye.”</p> + +<p>“What does he want with me?” growled Gypo. +“I’m not a member o’ the Organization any more. +He’s got nothin’ to do with me. I’m not goin’.”</p> + +<p>“Come on, man,” whispered Connor, “don’t stand +here chawin’. He’s not goin’ t’ate ye. Come on. +Is it afraid o’ the Commandant ye are? Why so?”</p> + +<p>“I’m not afraid of any man that was ever pupped,” +growled Gypo. “Come on.”</p> + +<p>The three men walked off abreast, in step like +soldiers, their feet falling loudly on to the wet +pavement, heels first. At the corner the footfalls +became confused. Gypo spat into the street. +Mulholland sneezed. They entered the public-house by +a little narrow side door that had a bright brass knob +on it. They went along a narrow passage, through +a stained-glass swing door, into a brightly lit oblong +room.</p> + +<p>A man was sitting by a little gas fire on a high +three legged stool facing the door. When Gypo saw +the man he stopped dead.</p> + +<p>The man was Commandant Dan Gallagher.</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter" id="ch06"> + +<h2>Chapter VI</h2> + +<p>During the previous autumn a terrific +sensation had been caused all over Ireland +by the farm-labourers’ strike in the M—— district. +The sensation was brought to a crisis by +the murder of the Farmers’ Union Secretary. For +the first time it was discovered that the Revolutionary +Organization had spread its influence among the +farm-labourers and over the whole country. +Something had been discovered. A Government secret +organization had overlapped the Communist organization +and there was a little effervescence, which +was immediately suppressed by the Government. +Very little leaked out publicly. The newspapers +were forbidden to talk about it. The Conservative +organs in Dublin had timid editorials demanding that +the Government should take the people into its +confidence. What really was the extent of this +“conspiracy against the national safety?”</p> + +<p>Then immediately Commandant Dan Gallagher +became a public figure and a general topic of +conversation. He came out of obscurity in a night as it +were. People suddenly discovered that he was a +power in the country. He was photographed and +interviewed and his photographs appeared in all the +newspapers both in this country and in England and +in America. He promptly denounced the murder as +a “foul crime against the honour of the working +class and the whole revolutionary movement.” He +began to be feared intensely in official quarters as a +“slippery customer.” This phrase was used at a +Government Cabinet meeting.</p> + +<p>Just about that time, the leading organ of the +English aristocracy had a two-column leading article +on the subject of Commandant Dan Gallagher. In +the course of the article a short survey of Gallagher’s +life was given sarcastically. The following is an +extract from the article:</p> + +<blockquote> + + <p>“. . . This flower of Irish manhood grew on an obscure + dunghill, in the daily practice of all these virtues, which + are indigenous to the Irish soil, if one is to believe the + flowery utterances of the politicians on St. Patrick’s Day. + His father was a small peasant farmer in Kilkenny. + Having assisted very probably in the gentle assassination + of a few of his landlord’s agents in the past, reverently + decided to devote the activities of his promising + son to the service of his God. But Daniel would have + none of it. He was meant for other fields of conquest. + He succeeded in making himself famous in the ecclesiastical + seminary in which he was being prepared for the + priesthood, by smashing the skull of one of the Roman + priests during a dispute on the playground. The instrument + used in this display of boyish gaiety was the + favourite Irish weapon, a hurling stick.</p> + + <p>“The young Fionn McCumhaill was expelled and fled + the country. He drifted around for eight years without + a trace of his whereabouts. Very possibly he spent the + time in the United States. We can well imagine that he + was favourably received among those organizations in + the United States which are governed by Irishmen intent + on the destruction of the British Empire by conspiracy, + murder, slander, and all the other delectable schemes + that come to life so readily in the Gaelic brain. We + can imagine him perfecting himself in the arts of + gunmanship, deceit and those obscure forms of libidinous + vice which are said to be practiced by this morose type + of revolutionary in order to dull his sensibilities into + an apathy which the consciousness of even the most + horrible enormities cannot penetrate. . . .</p> + + <p>“At any rate he has returned to his beloved motherland + endowed liberally with those qualities which make him + dear to the hearts of all Irishmen of murderous + inclinations. These latter unfortunately form as yet a + considerable portion of the population of Ireland. + Mr. Gallagher has a powerful and enthusiastic + following.</p> + + <p>“His brand of Communism is of the type that appeals + most to the Irish nature. It is a mixture of Roman + Catholicism, Nationalist Republicanism and Bolshevism. + Its chief rallying cries are: ‘Loot and Murder.’ ” . . .</p> + +</blockquote> + +<p>The following is an extract from an article which +appeared a little while later in the columns of the +official organ of the American Revolutionary +Organization:</p> + +<blockquote> + + <p>“When the glorious history of the struggle for + proletarian liberation in Ireland comes to be written, the + name of Comrade Dan Gallagher will stampede from + cover to cover in one uninterrupted blaze of glory. . . . + No other living man has given nobler service to the world + revolution than this sturdy fighter, who rules the workers + of Dublin with greater power than is wielded by the + Irish bourgeoisie, who are still nominally in the saddle. + The collapse of the farm-workers’ strike need not + dishearten those comrades who expected great things from + the hoisting of the red flag at M—— last October. Comrade + Gallagher has not seen fit as yet to call the Irish + bourgeois bluff. When the time arrives. . . .”</p> + +</blockquote> + +<p>In November a representative of the International +Executive of the Revolutionary Organization was +sent over from the Continent to make a special report +on the situation in Ireland. The following is an +extract from a secret report drawn up by him, after +spending three months in Ireland secretly touring the +country:</p> + +<blockquote> + + <p>“. . . For the moment it would be a tactical blunder + to expel Comrade Gallagher from the International. At + the same time there can be no doubt that the Irish + Section has deviated entirely from the principles of + revolutionary Communism as laid down in the laws of + the International. Comrade Gallagher rules the national + Organization purely and simply as a dictator. There + is a semblance of an Executive Committee but only in + name. The tactics are guided by whatever whim is + uppermost in Comrade Gallagher’s mind at the moment. + Contrary to the orders issued from Head-quarters, the + Organization is still purely military and has made hardly + any attempt to come into the open as a legal political + party. This is perhaps not entirely due to Comrade + Gallagher’s fault. There are local causes, arising out + of the recent struggle for national independence, which + has left the working class in the grip of a romantic love + of conspiracy, a strong religious and bourgeois-nationalist + outlook on life and a hatred of constitutional methods. + This makes it difficult for the moment to check Comrade + Gallagher’s hold . . .”</p> + +</blockquote> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter" id="ch07"> + +<h2>Chapter VII</h2> + +<p>Gallagher’s eyes had opened wide when +the three men came into the room. Then +they narrowed until they became thin slits +under their long black lashes. He nodded to +Mulholland and Connor. Then he stared at Gypo.</p> + +<p>Gypo returned the stare. The two men, unlike in +their features and bodies, were exactly alike in the +impassivity of their stare. Gypo’s face was like a +solid and bulging granite rock, impregnable but +lacking that intelligence that is required by strength +in order to be able to conquer men. Gallagher’s face +was less powerful physically, but it was brimful of +intelligence. The forehead was high and it seemed +to surround the face. The eyes were large and wide +apart. The nose was long and straight. The +mouth was thin-lipped. The jaws were firm but +slender and refined like a woman’s jaws. The whole +face had absolutely no colour, but there was a +constant movement in the cheeks, as if tiny streams +were coursing irregularly beneath the smooth glossy +skin. The hair was coal-black and cut close. The +ears were large. The neck opened out gradually +from the base of the shoulders on either side, like a +hill disappearing into a plain.</p> + +<p>Then he jumped off his high stool and stood with +his legs wide apart in front of Gypo. He was five +feet eleven inches and a half in height, but Gypo +towered over him with his extra two inches. Gallagher +wore a loose brown raincoat, from his throat +almost to his ankles, that made his well-built frame +look larger and stouter. Yet Gypo, standing bare +in his dungarees that were now almost sodden with +rain, looked immense compared to him. Gallagher +held his hands in his raincoat pockets thrust in front +of his body, as if he were pointing pistols at Gypo. +Gypo held his hands loosely by his sides, two vast +red hands hanging limply from whitish round wrists. +Gallagher wore a broad-brimmed black velour hat of +a fashionable make. Gypo’s tattered little round +hat was still perched on his skull, like a tiny school +cap on an overgrown youngster.</p> + +<p>They looked at one another, the one, handsome, +well dressed, confident and indifferent; the other +crude, ragged, amazed, anxious.</p> + +<p>“Well, Gypo,” drawled Gallagher, in the irritating, +contemptuous tone that he affected. “Ye don’t +seem glad to see me.”</p> + +<p>“Can’t say that I am,” replied Gypo curtly, almost +without moving his lips. “I don’t see no reason to +be glad to see ye, Commandant Gallagher. Ye were +never a friend o’ mine, an’ I ain’t in the habit o’ +crawlin’ on me belly to anybody that don’t like me. +I’m not one o’ yer pet lambs any more, so ye needn’t +do any bleatin’ as far as I’m concerned. One man is +as good as another in this rotten ould world. I’m +usin’ yer own words, amn’t I?”</p> + +<p>Gallagher laughed out loud, a merry laugh that +showed his white teeth. He shrugged his shoulders +and took a turn around the room. He took a packet +of cigarettes from his pocket as he walked and +selected one. He kept laughing until he paused to +light the cigarette over near the stained-glass window.</p> + +<p>“Yer a queer fish, Gypo,” he said, again laughing, +as he paused to throw the used match into a spittoon.</p> + +<p>Then he cast a glance all round the room and came +back again to Gypo. Mulholland and Connor +watched him all the time with that loving interest +with which a crowd watches the movements of a +champion boxer who is walking around the ring in +his dressing-gown, preparatory to a big fight. They +smiled when Gallagher laughed. They stopped +smiling when he stopped laughing.</p> + +<p>Gypo, on the other hand, watched Gallagher’s +movements angrily. He felt a desire to pounce on +him and crush him to death before he could do any +harm.</p> + +<p>Then Gallagher came up to him and caught him +by the right shoulder in a friendly and confidential +manner.</p> + +<p>“Listen Gypo,” he said. “You’ve got a grudge +against me no doubt for getting you expelled from +the Organization, but you have nobody to blame but +yourself. I sent ye down, on the orders of the +Executive Committee, you and Frank McPhillip, +to look after the defence work of the strikers. What +orders did I give the two of you? Can you +remember? Well, I’ll remind you. <strong>To keep off the +booze and not to use the lead unless you were +attacked.</strong> But what did you do? The very first +thing, the two of you got hold of two women. That, +of course, must have been Frankie’s work because I +don’t suppose you were ever a great magnet among +the women. Women were Frankie’s weak spot, +damn it. But anyhow, it doesn’t matter very much +which of you started the hunt. You tasted the honey +as well as he did it, as far as was reported to me. +The two of you got drunk at M—— in company +with these two women. You got so mad drunk that +McPhillip went to shoot up the town. You might +have assisted him in that pastime, but your time was +occupied trying to pull a lamp-post up by the roots +in Oliver Plunket Street, for a bet of a gallon of +stout. In the very middle of your entertainment, +McPhillip met the secretary of the Farmers’ Union +and shot him dead. That made you get over your +drunkenness damn quick, didn’t it? The two of you +bolted without making any attempt to cover your +tracks. You ran like two hares. You came into +Dublin with a red herring of a story about an attack +and what not. It was a tall yarn. Well? D’ye +know what I’m going to tell you, Gypo?”</p> + +<p>He paused dramatically and looked Gypo closely +in the eyes. Gypo never moved a muscle in his +face. He grunted interrogatively from somewhere +deep down in his chest. Gallagher continued very +slowly:</p> + +<p>“I’m going to tell you this much, Gypo. Only for +me, you wouldn’t have got away with it as easily as +you did that time. There were others who wanted +to give you this, for disobeying orders.”</p> + +<p>He moved his right hand suddenly beneath his +raincoat, thrusting it forward against Gypo’s lower +ribs. Gypo felt the contact of a blunt hard metal. +He knew it was the muzzle of Gallagher’s Colt +automatic pistol, but Gypo took no notice of the +pistol. He was not afraid of the pistol. But he was +afraid of Gallagher’s eyes into which he was looking +steadily. He didn’t like them. They were so cold +and blue and mysterious. Goodness knows what +might be hidden behind them. His face began an +irregular chaotic movement. His jaws, cheek-bones, +nose, mouth and forehead convulsed in opposite +directions, as if a draught of wind had stolen in +under the skin of his face and caused it to undulate. +Then the face set again. The neck swelled and the +little eyes bulged.</p> + +<p>“No use tryin’ yer tricks on me, Danny Gallagher,” +he growled, knocking the pistol muzzle away with a +slight movement of his right hand. Although the +blow was slight, it caused Gallagher to reel +backwards two paces before he regained his balance. +His face darkened for a moment and then again he +broke into a smile. Gypo continued in a thunderous +melancholy voice: “Gallagher, I got no use for you. +Them’s all lies ye were tellin’ just now about tryin’ +to save me life when I was before the Court of +Inquiry last October. I know very well they was. +Yerrah, are ye goin’ to tell me that yer not the chief +boss an’ God knows what in the Organization? +Who else has got any authority in it except yersel’? +Yah. I got no use for ye. Yer a liar. Yer no good. +An’ I’d be in my job yet in the police only for ye an’ +yer soft talk. It was you that got me outa me job +with yer promises o’ the Lord knows what. I declare +to Almighty God that I done more for yer bloody +Organization than any other man in Ireland. I done +things that no man unhung could do. An’ ye went +an’ threw me out on account of an ould farmer gettin’ +plugged. Me an’ McPhillip. What did we get for +it? Wha’ . . . ye rotten . . .”</p> + +<p>Gypo rambled off incoherently into a long string of +blasphemous curses, raising his voice as he did so. +His arms were raised outwards in a curve and his +head was lowered, as if he were in the act of +performing a swimming exercise. He frothed at the mouth +and glared from one to the other of the three men, as +if undecided which to attack first.</p> + +<p>Then suddenly a little wooden panel in the wall to +the right was raised up and a pretty red head was +pushed through. It was Kitty the barmaid.</p> + +<p>“Lord save us,” she cried, putting her fingers to her +lips as she looked at Gypo. “Who is that fellah? +What’s he doin’ here, Dan?”</p> + +<p>“That’s all right, Kitty,” said Gallagher with a +light laugh; “he’s a friend of mine. We are having a +cursing competition.”</p> + +<p>And he laughed heartily as he walked to the +spittoon with the stub of his cigarette.</p> + +<p>Gypo turned around and looked at the terrified +face of the barmaid. As he looked at her beautiful +face and her pretty soft hair that shimmered in the +artificial light, his head swam and his eyes went +watery. His anger left his body immediately so +that it seemed to empty and collapse. It had been +rigid and like a tree. Now it became loose and +jointless. He stood with stooping head and +wondering eyes, looking at the barmaid.</p> + +<p>The barmaid, seeing the change she had effected +by her presence in the unruly giant, grew conceited. +She smiled in a superior way and dabbed at her hair. +She looked around at the others with an air of: +“D’ye all see that now?”</p> + +<p>Then Gallagher came up to the aperture jauntily, +took her two hands in his and looked enticingly into +her eyes. Her eyes winced for a moment as if she +had become suddenly afraid. Then she smiled +softly, wearily, like a woman passionately in love. +Gallagher bent down his head and whispered +something in her ear. She burst into a loud laugh. +Gallagher smiled, listening to her. Then he +suddenly sighed and rapped the counter curtly.</p> + +<p>“Four glasses of Jameson’s quickly,” he said in a +low sharp cold voice.</p> + +<p>The barmaid stopped laughing as suddenly as if +she had been stricken by a pain. She pulled down +the shutter, lisping as she did so: “Yes Dan.”</p> + +<p>Gallagher came back to Gypo and put his hand +again on Gypo’s shoulder. Gypo had his two hands +now in his trousers pockets. After his unsuccessful +outburst he felt tired. He wanted to go away +somewhere and lie down and sleep for days and days. +His mind was in a maze. He was very tired. As he +looked at Gallagher he even felt a longing to confide +his secret to him. Gallagher’s eyes were so devilishly +attractive. They seemed to draw things out of Gypo +towards themselves. They would be able to form a +plan and . . .</p> + +<p>Gypo had uttered one syllable of Gallagher’s name +before he realized the real identity of the man and +the consequences of a confession to him. The name +died on his lips. Gallagher smiled.</p> + +<p>“Gypo, old boy,” he said in a friendly tone, “ye +had better forget all that’s past. We’ve got something +on hand that’s as much your business as ours. +So we can act together on it. That’s why I sent +Bartly Mulholland into McPhillip’s house to look +for ye. A pal of yours has been done in by the +police. D’ye hear? It looks like an informer’s job. +We have to get that informer. It’s really no business +of the Organization because Frank had ceased to be +a member. He was only an ordinary civilian criminal +as far as we are concerned. But an informer is +an informer. He’s got to be wiped out like the first +sign of a plague as soon as he’s spotted. He’s a +common enemy. He’s got to be got, Gypo. And it’s +up to you to give us a hand in tracking the traitor +that sent your pal to his death. Because . . .”</p> + +<p>At that moment the slide was drawn up again +sharply and the barmaid appeared at the aperture +with four glasses of whisky on a tray. Gallagher +went to the aperture, paid for the whisky, handed +glasses to Connor and Mulholland, received his +change, pinched the barmaid’s cheek and made her +scream, laughed, pulled down the shutter himself +and then advanced smiling to Gypo with a glass of +whisky in each hand. He held out one glass to +Gypo. Gypo stared at it without making any +movement to take it or reject it.</p> + +<p>He had followed all Gallagher’s movements with +the stupid and suspicious wonder of a terrified wild +animal that thinks some trick is being played on it. +Now he stared at the glass as if he suspected some +trick in that too.</p> + +<p>“Take it,” said Gallagher coldly. “Take it, man, +if you’ve any sense. It’s better to have me as a +friend than as an enemy. If you are not going to +help us in this job . . . er . . . people might think . . . +er . . . that . . .”</p> + +<p>“Uh,” began Gypo with a shrug of his whole body. +Then he stopped panting. He went on, speaking at +a very high pitch. “It’s not that but . . . Look +here . . . It’s how . . .” His voice suddenly +deepened into a hoarse shout, “It’s how I don’t know +what I’m doin’.”</p> + +<p>He stopped. Gallagher glanced at Mulholland. +Mulholland’s cat’s eyes both winked inperceptibly.</p> + +<p>“I’ve been starvin’ here for the past six months,” +continued Gypo, suddenly breaking out into a +torrent of words. He talked like a negro, hollow, +thunderous and melancholy. “I’ve been kicking +about this town an’ every one o’ you fellahs I met +passed me by without a word as if I never knew ye. +I been over in the House there, livin’ from hand +to mouth on whatever I could bum from sailors and +pimps and dockers. I got no clothes. I got no +money. I got nothin’. An’ then you come up all of +a sudden with yer soft talk. Well . . . uh . . . +how is it that . . .”</p> + +<p>He came to a stop once more with his chest heaving. +He seemed to be about to go into a rage once +more, but suddenly Gallagher moved closer to him +and whispered gently and soothingly:</p> + +<p>“Look here, Gypo. I’m going to make a fair deal +with you. I’ll admit you have done a lot for the +movement. You have paid the penalty during the +last six months for the dangerous position you placed +the whole Organization in last October. We’ll call +that quits on one condition. If you can give us a +clue to the man that informed on Francis Joseph +McPhillip I’ll get ye taken back again into the +Organization at yer old job on Head-quarters Staff. +Here. Take this drink.”</p> + +<p>Gypo’s hand shot out immediately. He grasped +the glass and Gallagher’s hand both together in his +immense paw. The two men almost struggled trying +to disengage their hands. As soon as the glass was +free Gypo put it to his lips and drained it. Then he +stalked slowly over to the mantelpiece and placed +the empty glass on it. With his back to his companions +he paused to wipe his mouth with his sleeve.</p> + +<p>He wanted time to compose himself. Gallagher’s +proposal had taken him so completely by surprise +that he was beside himself. Since that infernal +moment when he kicked open the door of the police-station, +his whole life had been submerged in a pitch-black +cloud that was impenetrable and offered no +escape. He had been alone, outcast, encompassed +by a universal horde of enemies. Now, suddenly, +he was offered a means of escape by the great +Gallagher himself. Gallagher, the great Gallagher, had +made him an offer. He would get back again into +the Organization. Again people would be afraid +of him. Again clever men would be always at hand +to make plans for him, to provide him with money +for doing daring things, to protect him, to praise +his recklessness, his strength and his . . . Mother +of Mercy! What Luck!</p> + +<p>As he wiped his mouth on his sleeve at the counter +an insane idea struck him, such was his eagerness to +qualify immediately for readmission to the +Organization. For a moment he contemplated the man who +had gone into the police-station as a being apart +from himself. Sound began to gurgle up his throat. +It was an attempt on the part of his present personality +to speak and deliver information against that +dazed Gypo Nolan who had stumbled into the police-station. +But the sound froze in his throat, in a ball, +hurting him as if his tonsils had swollen suddenly. +He realized that he himself was one with that +ponderous fellow, wearing a little tattered round hat, +who had gone into the police-station. It was only +another artifice on the part of something within +him, his conscience maybe, to persuade him to make +a confession of his betrayal.</p> + +<p>That same impulse had confused him all the time +that he was looking at Mrs. McPhillip.</p> + +<p>And then, just as in the public-house, when he had +been terrified by Katie Fox, his mind had given +birth to an insane plan about a sailor in a tavern, +so now also his mind conceived an amazing fabrication. +It entered his brain suddenly, like a thunder-storm, +with noise and fury. His face and eyes +lit up. He opened his mouth. He walked over to +Gallagher quickly and spoke in a hissing whisper.</p> + +<p>“I’ll tell ye who informed,” he gasped. “It’s the +Rat Mulligan. It’s him as sure as Christ was +crucified.”</p> + +<p>The three men gathered up close to him. They all +looked behind them suspiciously and then stared at +him with narrowed eyes. There was a moment of +tense silence. Then each drew a deep breath. Connor +slipped his finger over the trigger of his revolver.</p> + +<p>“The Rat Mulligan!” exclaimed Gallagher at +length. “How d’ye make that out, Gypo?”</p> + +<p>“I’ll tell ye,” cried Gypo triumphantly. Then he +paused again and looked about him with furrowed +brows dramatically. “I didn’t like to say anythin’ +mesel’ for reasons that everybody knows. A man +can never be sure of a thing like that. An’ God +knows it’s a quare charge to bring agin a man. But +as ye put it the way ye put it, Commandant, about +him bein’ me pal an’ me duty to the Cause, well . . . +Still! Poor Mulligan!”</p> + +<p>“Oh, come on,” cried Gallagher twitching with +excitement. “Get finished with what you have to +say. Make your statement, man.”</p> + +<p>But Gypo was not to be hurried. An amazing +arrogance had taken possession of him. He reached +out towards the glass of whisky that Gallagher still +held untasted in his hand.</p> + +<p>“Gimme that, Commandant,” he said, “seein’ as +yer not tastin’ it.” Gallagher nervously handed him +the drink. “Thanks. Here’s luck. Ah! Good +stuff that. Well. This is how it was. Just after +Frankie left me in the dining-room, I suddenly +thought to mesel’ that I had better run after him and +try an’ head him off from goin’ home. I had been +tryin’ to make him clear out of town again an’ not go +near Titt Street, but the same cranky fellah that he +always was wouldn’t listen to a word of what I said. +So that I said to mesel’, Lord have mercy on him, +‘Well, me fine fellah, I’m not goin’ to get mesel’ into +a fever, tryin’ to keep ye outa harm’s way an’ get +cursed upside down for doin’ so.’ Well anyway, as +soon as he had gone, I decided to follow him and give +him a last shout. I ran out into the hall an’ who do +I see but the Rat sneakin’ around the corner. I ran +down the hall. There was the Rat at the door with +his hands in his overcoat pockets peerin’ up the lane. +Then he dived out into the street, I chased after +him. I was just in time to see Frankie turnin’ the +corner into the road with the Rat crawlin’ after him. +It’s as clear as daylight. So it is. Lord have mercy +on the dead, if I had only thought of it at the time, +Frankie might have been alive at this minute instead +o’ bein’ a frozen corpse. Give us another drink, +Commandant. Me throat is parched.”</p> + +<p>Without a word or a glance Gallagher walked up +to the counter and rapped at the aperture. Gypo +did not even condescend to follow his movements. +His conceit was now boundless. He realized that he +himself was amazingly cunning. He even felt a +contempt for Gallagher in his mind. As for Mulholland +and Connor . . . He glanced at them appraisingly, +as a man might glance at a useful pair of dogs. It +was the same kind of glance that Gallagher was +in the habit of directing towards everybody.</p> + +<p>Gallagher brought a fresh glass of whisky and +handed it to him. He took it without a word of +thanks. He walked to the spittoon and emptied his +mouth into it. Then he swallowed the drink again +at one draught. He put the empty glass on the +mantelpiece and coughed deeply. He clasped his +hands behind his back with a loud sound. He began +to balance himself backwards and forwards on his +heels like a policeman.</p> + +<p>“How didn’t I think of it before?” he cried, looking +thoughtfully at the ceiling.</p> + +<p>He was completely immersed now in the contemplation +of his own cleverness. He did not notice the +utter silence with which his story had been received +by Gallagher and the other two men. He was +contemplating with pleasure the old days, when he had +a criminal in his charge, in the cells, at the +police-station. He used to stand for a whole hour in the +stillness of the night, baiting the prisoner, +terrorizing him with his eyes, with a sudden display of +strength, with a mad laugh, with silent staring. He +was feeling that same sensation now. Exhilarated +by the whisky he had drunk and carried away by +the concentrated nerve strain of the past few hours, +he imagined that he had Gallagher and the other +two men at his mercy, that he was a policeman and +that they were civilians who were asking a favour of +him, an illegal favour that put them in his power. +It was just that way in the old days, when he used to +sell Gallagher little tit-bits of information over a +drink; little harmless, he thought, bits of information, +about head-quarters routine and the disposition +of the detective-force personnel.</p> + +<p>“Think of what before?” Gallagher remarked +coldly.</p> + +<p>He spoke slowly and casually, looking at Gypo +in a brooding way.</p> + +<p>“Why, I mean the grudge that the Rat had in for +Frankie,” Gypo replied confidentially and with an +air of great importance.</p> + +<p>“What grudge are you referring to?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, it’s a long story,” said Gypo with a sigh, as he +walked over to the spittoon and spat into it. Then +he hitched up his trousers. He cleared his throat +with a tremendous noise. It was very tantalizing. +“Stand us another drink, Commandant, before they +close,” he cried suddenly, with amazing nonchalance.</p> + +<p>“By the lumpin’ Moses!” ejaculated Gallagher. +“You’re a cool customer, Gypo. Ha, ha, ha! Well +now! You’re worth another drink anyway.”</p> + +<p>He winked secretly at Mulholland and Connor as +he walked over to the aperture. Gypo called after +him almost contemptuously.</p> + +<p>“Hurry up,” he said, as he looked at the clock with +a scowling face, “we only have another minute. It’s +a minute to eleven.”</p> + +<p>Again four glasses of whisky were passed around. +Gypo took his and swallowed it at a draught. This +time he took the glass from Gallagher’s hand +without asking for it. He swallowed that also at a +draught, as if he were going through a public +exhibition of his drinking powers. Mulholland and +Connor swallowed their drinks hurriedly, as if they +were afraid that he was going to take theirs too. He +walked over to the mantelpiece and put the two +empty glasses on it. He looked at the five glasses he +had emptied and smiled broadly. He whacked his +chest with a loud sound.</p> + +<p>“Come on now, comrade,” said Gallagher sharply, +“out with your news. No fooling.”</p> + +<p>“All right,” said Gypo, thrusting forward his huge +head so that it looked like a battering-ram, suddenly +attached to his collar-bone. “D’ye remember the +Rat’s sister Susie? She used to be a member o’ the +Organization. She——”</p> + +<p>“All right,” snapped Gallagher angrily. “I remember +her. What about her? What has she got to do +with it?”</p> + +<p>“Well, why wouldn’t she have a lot to do with it? +She had a baby, didn’t she? Didn’t she leave——”</p> + +<p>“What d’you know about her baby?” hissed +Gallagher. He was deadly pale.</p> + +<p>“Don’t get yer rag out, Commandant,” leered +Gypo with a broad laugh. He was slightly drunk +and insolent. “Hit a sore spot, wha’? Well, I +don’t know anythin’ about that. Ye can set yer +mind at rest. Frank McPhillip was the father o’ +that kid an’ he refused to marry her. I remember +me an’ him were at the back o’ Cassidy’s havin’ a +pint one night, when somebody came in an’ asked +Frankie to step around the corner a minute. He +was gone a long time so I followed him, suspectin’ +that there might be a bit o’ foul play. But I found +him an’ Susie jawin’ away to beat the band. She +was cryin’ an’ askin’ him to take her away with him +somewhere. O’ course he didn’t budge. Next day +she went to the ’Pool. Gone on Lime Street, as far +as I can hear. Well! You bet yer life that’s why +the Rat did it. That’s why he informed.”</p> + +<p>Gallagher looked at Mulholland. Mulholland +wrinkled his forehead and shook his head slightly. +Then he looked at Gypo curiously. Connor’s mouth +was wide open and there was a look of wonder in his +eyes as he gaped at Gypo. Gypo was tightening his +trousers belt.</p> + +<p>“Well, Commandant,” he said, when he had +finished, “Yer word holds good about takin’ me back +into the Organization?”</p> + +<p>“Steady on,” murmured Gallagher dreamily, staring +at the ground. “We have to verify your statement +first. If your statement is true you’ll get back +all right.” Suddenly he looked up, smiling, with +sparkling eyes. He seized Gypo by the right hand +and smiled into his face in a friendly intimate way. +“Listen. There’s a Court of Inquiry to-night at +half-past one. Be there. Mulholland will take you +up there. You can arrange to meet him somewhere. +You can rely on me, comrade, to fix you up again. +You did good work before, comrade, and you’ll do +good work again for the liberation of your class.”</p> + +<p>Gypo gripped Gallagher’s hand and squeezed it +eagerly. Then he clicked his heels and saluted in a +grandiose fashion. Then he turned to Mulholland.</p> + +<p>“I’ll be at Biddy Burke’s place,” he whispered; +“about one o’clock. I’ll see ye there.”</p> + +<p>“Right ye are,” answered Mulholland.</p> + +<p>“Good night, boys,” cried Gypo in a loud hearty +voice.</p> + +<p>Then he stalked out of the room, striking the floor +with his heels fiercely and clearing his throat.</p> + +<p>They all looked after him in silence for two +seconds. Then somebody called, “Time, gentlemen, +time.” Gallagher started.</p> + +<p>“Well, I’ll be damned,” he cried, striking his left +hand into his right.</p> + +<p>“It’s him,” hissed Connor, rushing up to Gallagher +with open mouth.</p> + +<p>“Shut up, you fool,” snapped Gallagher.</p> + +<p>“Listen, Commandant,” cried Mulholland excitedly; +“it’s him. I’ll swear it is, because——”</p> + +<p>“Damn you,” snarled Gallagher, “who is asking +your opinion? Give me your report. Quick, quick. +Don’t make a song of it.”</p> + +<p>In short jerky statements, with rapid gestures, +Mulholland described all that had happened at No. +44 Titt Street, Gypo’s excitement, the falling of the +money to the floor, Gypo’s giving it to Mrs. +McPhillip, his rush from the house. Then suddenly he +began in a whining voice to recount all he had done +since he had been mobilized at eight o’clock on +receipt of the news of Francis McPhillip’s death. +But Gallagher cut him short.</p> + +<p>“Cut that out,” he cried. “Did the police find any +papers at No. 44? No. Good. Was anything +found on the body? You don’t know. Well, you +better find out to-morrow at the inquest. Now beat +it. Keep at Gypo’s heels like a pot of glue. Find +out every damn thing you can. Bring him along +sharp to the Bogey Hole at one-thirty. Off.”</p> + +<p>Mulholland disappeared without a word. +Gallagher turned to Connor.</p> + +<p>“You Connor. Mobilize six men of your section. +Round up Mulligan. Get him to the Bogey Hole. +Get busy.”</p> + +<p>Connor mumbled something and disappeared.</p> + +<p>Gallagher remained staring at the ground, alone, +lost in thought. Drunken voices were singing in the +next compartment. Feet were shuffling. A droning +voice cried constantly: “Time, please, gentlemen, +time.”</p> + +<p>Gallagher’s eyes distended dreamily. He sighed.</p> + +<p>“The least little rift,” he murmured to himself, +“and everything is burst open. Then it’s all up with +me. I’ve got to stamp out this damned informer +whoever he is. It may be Gypo. It might be the +Rat, though that’s very doubtful. That’s of no +consequence. What is of consequence is the fact that +there is an informer. . . . Good God! An informer +is the great danger. Every man’s hand is against +me. It’s only fear that protects me. I must make +an example of this fellow.”</p> + +<p>His voice had gradually died out. Now silence +reigned in the room again. The room was hot and +stifling, full of the smell of stale drink and tobacco. +He stared at the floor.</p> + +<p>A cockroach peered out of its hole, contemplated a +blotch of drink four inches away from its snout and +then disappeared again. It would come out later on +and suck the blotch.</p> + +<p>The distance was full of sound as if many things +were happening there.</p> + +<p>Then Gallagher raised his head with a start. He +sighed and walked rapidly over to the aperture. He +tapped the panel with his knuckles. It was raised up +almost immediately. The pretty red head appeared. +Gallagher nodded. The red head disappeared again +and the slide was pulled down. Gallagher waited. +After three seconds a little door to the left was +opened quietly and the barmaid stepped into the +room, shutting the door carefully behind her. She +rushed immediately to Gallagher and threw her arms +around his neck. He kissed her lips several times +rapidly. Then he unwound her arms.</p> + +<p>“Got anything for me?” he asked.</p> + +<p>She nodded and took a piece of paper from within +the breast of her black dress. He stuck it within his +raincoat.</p> + +<p>“Right,” he muttered dreamily.</p> + +<p>Then he kissed her again on the lips and patted +her cheek. He took a pace away, but she grabbed +at him. She held him, looking beseechingly into his +face.</p> + +<p>“Have ye got nothin’ to say to me, Dan?” she +whispered, almost sobbing.</p> + +<p>“For goodness’ sake, Kitty, have sense,” he +muttered savagely. “This is no time for jig-acting.” +He put a finger to his throat. “I’m up to here in it. +The whole Organization is in danger.”</p> + +<p>“O Lord! What is it, Dan? Tell me.”</p> + +<p>“An informer. See ye to-morrow. Let me go. +Good night.”</p> + +<p>He kissed her on the forehead. Her arms +loosened. He was gone. She looked after him +dejectedly. Then she shivered and gripped her +breasts.</p> + +<p>Gallagher walked up Titt Street. Here and there +a workman recognized him and saluted respectfully. +He did not acknowledge the salutes. He +wheeled sharply in at the door of No. 44 and +knocked. The door was opened almost immediately +by Mary McPhillip. She also started and put her +hand to her breast when she saw him.</p> + +<p>“Good evening, Mary,” he said gently, holding out +his hand. “May I come in? I want to speak to +your mother.”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said Mary excitedly; “mother is in the +kitchen, but you had better come into the parlour. +Father is in the kitchen, too, and there would +surely be a row if he saw you.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, that’s all right,” said Gallagher. “Is there +anybody else there?”</p> + +<p>“No, everybody else is gone.”</p> + +<p>“Who is that yer talkin’ to, Mary?” came Jack +McPhillip’s voice from the kitchen.</p> + +<p>“Nobody atall, father,” cried Mary.</p> + +<p>“Don’t I hear a man’s voice,” cried the father. +“Who is he?”</p> + +<p>“Hist! It’s all right,” whispered Gallagher, pushing +past her as she tried to speak again. “He won’t +bite me. It’s just me, Mr. McPhillip. How are +you? I’m very sorry to hear of your trouble.”</p> + +<p>The two of them met at the kitchen door. They +stared at one another for a moment. Then +Gallagher made a movement to come forward and +McPhillip with a little start, moved backwards. He did +not speak until he was near the bed again.</p> + +<p>“Oh, it’s you, is it?” he said angrily. “An’ what +brings you here at this hour of the night?”</p> + +<p>Gallagher took no notice of him. He turned to +Mrs. McPhillip who was still in the same position +by the fire, telling her rosary beads.</p> + +<p>“I am sorry to trouble you, Mrs. McPhillip,” he +said gently and respectfully, “in the middle of your . . . +eh . . . but there’s a question or two I have +to ask you for the sake of him that’s dead. Would +you be kind enough to——”</p> + +<p>“And what right have you to ask a question or +two?” cried McPhillip, raging because Gallagher +had refused even to talk to him.</p> + +<p>He was sitting on the bed now. He sat on the bed +timidly, as if he were in somebody else’s house.</p> + +<p>Gallagher turned to him slowly and looked at him +fiercely in the eyes.</p> + +<p>“I have the right,” he said, “of a revolutionary to +track a traitor to the cause.”</p> + +<p>“Ha!” sneered McPhillip. “An’ what kind of a +revolutionary d’ye call yersel’?”</p> + +<p>“A revolutionary Communist,” answered +Gallagher.</p> + +<p>Then he turned about insolently and bent down +his head to talk to Mrs. McPhillip.</p> + +<p>“Communist be damned,” cried McPhillip, jumping +off the bed. “D’ye know what I’m goin’ to tell +ye? Ye——”</p> + +<p>“Father,” cried Mary, wringing her hands, +“don’t——”</p> + +<p>“Shut up, you young rip,” stamped the father; +“am I master in me own house or am I not? You, +ye Communist, as ye call yersel’! Yer the greatest +scoundrel in Ireland. Yer the greatest enemy o’ +yer class. Now, let me alone, Mary, or I’ll tan yer +skin for ye. Let me tell him. . . . Let me . . . +Let go,” he screamed shrilly, as she seized him +tightly about the body and began to push him forcibly +from the room.</p> + +<p>He placed his hands and feet against the jambs +of the door and turning his head around, he +continued in a half-hysterical voice:</p> + +<p>“It’s the likes o’ me that’s the revolutionaries, but +we get no credit for it. It’s the likes o’ me that does +the hard work, eddicatin’ me fellow-men, an’ at the +same time strikin’ an honest blow for better +conditions. But men like you are criminals. Criminals, +criminals, that’s what yez are. Don’t lay hands on +yer father, Mary. Don’t——”</p> + +<p>“I’m not touching you,” cried Mary. “Come on +now. Get to bed.”</p> + +<p>She got him into the hall. He sighed and broke +into half-stifled sobs. Going up the stairs he kept +saying in a low melancholy voice:</p> + +<p>“If I had only put him on the scaffoldin’ with me, +instead of eddicatin’ him, maybe he’d be alive an’ an +honest man to-day. If I had only . . .”</p> + +<p>Then his voice died away into a mumble as a door +closed behind him upstairs.</p> + +<p>When Mary returned to the kitchen after putting +him to bed, she found Gallagher sitting beside her +mother, writing rapidly in a notebook. He had +taken off his hat. His close-cropped black head +looked very handsome to her. Still she shivered +looking at it. The side face looked very cruel, with +the brooding expression on it, as he looked +downwards at the notebook.</p> + +<p>She stood watching him until he finished writing. +Then he sighed. He got up. He said a few words +to Mrs. McPhillip. Then he shook hands with her +and turned to Mary.</p> + +<p>“I want to speak to you,” he said.</p> + +<p>She led him into the parlour excitedly. It was +dark there and she had to fumble around for matches +to light the gas. She couldn’t find them. Gallagher +offered his box. He lit a match. She went to +take it from him. Their fingers touched. She +started and stumbled over something. The match +fell from his fingers and went out. He reached out +his hands to catch her as she stumbled. He caught +her by the wrists and held her tightly. They had +not spoken a word. It was very queer in the darkness. +Their faces were very close together, but they +could not see one another. They stood still, each +of them mastered by some strange impulse, that +bound their tongues. They stood still, in the utter +darkness and silence of the little stuffed room, for +almost a minute. Then Gallagher spoke. He spoke +in a soft whisper. The sound of his voice was soft +and caressing. His lips were so close to hers that his +breath came moist to her lips. There was a catch in +his voice, as if the volume of sound were not strong +enough to steady itself on the air.</p> + +<p>“Mary,” he said, “I want you to come to a Court +of Inquiry with me to-night.”</p> + +<p>She made no attempt to reply. Neither did he +seem to expect a reply. It seemed that the words +and their implication were foreign to the purpose of +their meeting here. It seemed that the coursing of +their blood and the confused beating of their hearts, +was in response to some prearranged assignation of +declared love.</p> + +<p>But there had never been a question of amorous +relations between them. They had never met in +privacy like this before. Their previous meetings +were more in the nature of quarrels. Mary had +always disputed with Gallagher, particularly of late, +when she had become violently opposed to him. +But now in the darkness, in the solitude, both she +and he were mastered by some amazing emotion +that was inexplicable.</p> + +<p>“Dan,” she whispered suddenly, “you make me +afraid. Why are we standing here in the darkness? +What do you want with me?”</p> + +<p>“I want you to revenge your brother,” said Gallagher +suddenly, as if he had obeyed an unforeseen impulse +and broached an unexpected subject, with which +his mind had hitherto only toyed nervously. “I want +you to join me, Mary. I want you to take your +brother’s place in the Organization. But a greater +place than he held. No. It’s not your brother’s +place I want you to take but . . .”</p> + +<p>“Dan, what are you talking about?” she panted in +a terrified voice.</p> + +<p>There was a pause during which Gallagher imperceptibly +moved his face closer to hers. Their lips +met. They kissed gently. Then she drew back +suddenly, shivering violently. She wanted to rush +away and to shout, but the fascination of his voice +was upon her. His voice and the glamour of his face. +His face and the romance of his life. She was bound +suddenly by it. Suddenly too, it became apparent +to her why she had been eager to convert him. It +had been in order to meet him, with a plausible +excuse.</p> + +<p>And she was almost engaged to Joseph Augustine +Short, who was a “gentleman,” who would place her +in a respectable sphere of life, who would free her +for ever from the hated associations of her slum life +with its squalor, its revolutionary crises, its +damnable insecurity, its soul-devouring monotony.</p> + +<p>Mother of Mercy! Was she in love with Gallagher? +Was she going to be drawn into the web of +his conspiracies by the deadly fascination of his face +and of his voice, by the romance of his life?</p> + +<p>“Mary,” he murmured at last, “you are the +remainder of me. The two of us together would make +a complete whole. There would be nothing else +wanting to the two of us, no unfulfilled . . . er . . . +well . . . it’s not that either. I have not +fully worked out that part of the theory. I have +approached it from another point of view.”</p> + +<p>“What is it, Dan?” She drew away her face +farther and loosened one hand. He was wrapped in +dreams now and he did not attempt to stop her. +In fact he let her go altogether suddenly and sat on +the table, simply holding her right hand in his. +“What do you want with me?” she said again.</p> + +<p>“I want you to join me,” he muttered almost +inaudibly, wrapped in his thoughts.</p> + +<p>“Dan, I don’t understand,” she gasped, afraid of +his voice.</p> + +<p>“How? How?” he muttered. “Why don’t you +understand? I want you to join me.”</p> + +<p>“Do you mean . . . to . . . to . . . to marry +you?”</p> + +<p>“Oh rot,” he cried irritably, waking from his +half-reverie and turning towards her. “These +ridiculous conventions don’t enter my consciousness. +Not only have I no respect for them, but they don’t +enter my consciousness. You understand the +significance of that. My personality is entirely in +keeping with my mission in life. For me all these +words attain their true values. Marriage, for instance, +is truly a capitalist word meaning an arrangement +for the protection of property so that legitimate +sons could inherit it. So I don’t have to argue +with it in my own mind in order to rid myself of a +belief in it. Most men have to do that. I am a +hundred years before my time. I want to destroy +the idea of property. It is my mission. I don’t +want to leave property to my children. I don’t +want children. They are nothing to me. The perpetuation +of my life is in my work, in men’s thoughts, +in the fulfillment of my mission. That’s why I +want you to join me, because I feel something, an +affinity maybe—that’s a wrong word though—between +you and myself. I am sure there is a natural +relationship, chemical maybe, between the two of us. +We are two parts of one whole. I am sure of that. +No, damn it all. What a ridiculous idea! I don’t +want you to join me for the purpose of cohabitation. +I have no time to make sentiment a main impulse +of my desire to live. Neither have you. I am +certain of it. You are governed by other impulses. +Maybe you don’t know it. Probably you are afraid +to analyse yourself. But I know it. I don’t know +it. I feel it. ‘Know’ is not a proper word. It’s +out of use. ‘Feel’ is better. It is an outcome of the +new consciousness that I am discovering. But I +haven’t worked that out fully yet. It’s only +embryonic.”</p> + +<p>He paused. She started when he stopped. She +had not been listening to what he had been saying. +She had been arguing with herself. She had not +succeeded in settling with her conscience what she +had been discussing when he stopped. She bit her +lip and started. She was blushing.</p> + +<p>“Tell me, Dan,” she whispered, “do you believe in +anything? Do you even believe in Communism? +Do you feel pity for the working class?”</p> + +<p>Gallagher uttered an exclamation of contempt and +shrugged his shoulders. He panted as he spoke, +such was the rapidity of his words, in an effort to +keep pace with the rapidity of his tempestuous +thoughts.</p> + +<p>“No,” he said, “I believe in nothing fundamentally. +And I don’t feel pity. Nothing fundamental +that has consciousness capable of being understood +by a human being exists, so I don’t believe in anything, +since an intelligent person can only believe in +something that is fundamental. If I could believe in +something fundamental, then the whole superstructure +of life would be capable of being comprehended +by me. Life would resolve itself into a period of +intense contemplation. Action would be impossible. +There would be no inducement for action. There +would be some definite measurement for explaining +everything. Men seek only that which offers no +explanation of itself. But wait a minute. I haven’t +worked out that fully yet. It’s only in the +theoretical stage yet. I have no time.</p> + +<p>“But you spoke of pity. Pity? Pity is a ridiculous +sensation for a man of my nature. We are +incapable of it. A revolutionary is incapable of +feeling pity. Listen. The philosophy of a revolutionary +is this. Civilization is a process in the +development of the human species. I am an atom of the +human species, groping in advance, impelled by a +force over which neither I nor the human species +have any control. I am impelled by the Universal +Law to thrust forward the human species from one +phase of its development to another. I am at war +with the remainder of the species. I am a Christ +beating them with rods. I have no mercy. I have +no pity. I have no beliefs. I am not master of +myself. I am an automaton. I am a revolutionary. +And there is no reward for me but the satisfaction +of one lust, the lust for the achievement of my +mission, for power maybe, but I haven’t worked out +that yet. I am not certain that the lust for power +is a true impulse, a true . . . but listen. That can +come later. Can you give me an answer now? +Will you join me?”</p> + +<p>“No . . . no, Dan. Stop. Listen.” She gasped, +holding him back. “Not now. Later on I’ll tell +you. On a night like this, with death in the house, +how can you talk of . . . ?”</p> + +<p>“Why?” he uttered fiercely. “What night would +be better suited for you to join me? Don’t you +want to avenge your brother’s death? Don’t you +want . . .”</p> + +<p>“Dan, Dan,” she gasped, struggling away as he +attempted to seize her in his arms, “don’t touch me +or I’ll scream. I’m so excited.”</p> + +<p>There was a pause. Their breathing was loud in +the silence. A noise came from the kitchen.</p> + +<p>“That’s mother going to bed, Dan,” said Mary +hurriedly. “You must go, Dan.”</p> + +<p>“Will you come to the Court of Inquiry to-night?”</p> + +<p>“Dan, I’d rather——”</p> + +<p>“You must come, Mary. You must. You——”</p> + +<p>“All right, Dan, I’ll come.”</p> + +<p>“Good. I’ll come for you. Be ready at one +o’clock.”</p> + +<p>“All right, I’ll be ready.”</p> + +<p>“Be waiting in the parlour here. I’ll knock on +the window.”</p> + +<p>“All right, Dan. Go now immediately. I’m +coming, mother. Good night.”</p> + +<p>He bent hurriedly and kissed her lips. Then he +stumbled from the room. She waited until the hall +door closed behind him. Then she shuddered as the +barmaid had done.</p> + +<p>Gallagher walked away northwards furiously, with +glittering eyes, thinking.</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter" id="ch08"> + +<h2>Chapter VIII</h2> + +<p>Walking out from the public-house into +the street, Gypo felt as if he had leapt +suddenly into an arena, where he was to +perform astounding feats, while an amazed audience, +with two million eyes, gazed silent and spell-bound. +He thrust his head into the air. He let his arms +hang limply from his shoulders in front of his body. +He took two staggering steps forward and uttered +a long-drawn-out yell.</p> + +<p>It was that peculiar yell that mountaineers will +utter in the west of Ireland, when the fair is over in +the district town and night is falling, as they issue +from the public-houses, bareheaded and wild-eyed, +dragging their snorting and shivering mares after +them by the halter.</p> + +<p>Gypo’s yell was just such a one. It was like a +challenge to mortal combat issued to all and sundry. +He felt beside himself with strength. He was free +again. Had not Gallagher given him his word that +everything would be all right? Would he not be +taken back again into the Organization? Had he +not thrown suspicion on to the Rat Mulligan? He +was free again. Ye-a-a-aw!</p> + +<p>He staggered to the kerbstone and yelled, letting +his body go completely limp with ecstasy. Then, +breathing heavily through his nostrils, he stood erect +and looked about him to see what effect his yell had +produced. There was a small crowd of people near +by. They had just come out of Ryan’s public-house +and from Shaughnessy’s, another public-house ten +yards away at the corner of a lane. The corner was +brilliant with light, from the public-houses, from a +fried-fish and potato shop, and from a drapery shop +where the lights were kept on all night by the owner, +with the idea that the light might terrify gunmen +and housebreakers.</p> + +<p>Gypo stood out in the blaze of light, on the +kerbstone, with the beads of rainwater on his white +woollen muffler reflected like dewdrops in the +artificial light. The people looked at him in amazement +and with that intense satisfaction which the +proletariat of the slums always derives from something +unexpected and extraordinary happening, at no cost +to themselves. A spectacle had presented itself. +The crowd began to swell.</p> + +<p>Gypo had not intended to carry the affair any +further. In fact he had not intended to yell at all. +But when he saw the crowd he became amused. He +pitched on a man who stood near, a tall, thin, +respectably dressed man, who had a sour expression on his +face.</p> + +<p>“What are ye lookin’ at me for?” cried Gypo, +staring the fellow in the face insolently.</p> + +<p>“I’m not lookin’ at ye,” snapped the man irritably.</p> + +<p>“Yer a liar,” bellowed Gypo, “don’t I see ye lookin’ +at me?”</p> + +<p>“Well a cat can look at a king,” cried the stranger, +thrusting out his chin and spitting venomously to +his left.</p> + +<p>“What are ye sayin’ about kings?” said Gypo +angrily.</p> + +<p>“Better say nothin’ about kings around here, me +lad. I think yer lookin’ for trouble. I’ve got a +good mind to give ye a wallop in the jaw.”</p> + +<p>“Ye would, would ye?” cried the stranger, making +a move to take his hands out of his coat pockets.</p> + +<p>But he was too late. Gypo’s right hand swung +around. The man went down like a bag of nails +dropped to an iron deck. Somebody cried: “Lord, +save us.” Gypo stood over the fallen man with his +chest heaving. A policeman appeared from somewhere +in the rear. He advanced rapidly, shouldering +the people and trying to snatch something from +under his cape as he made for Gypo.</p> + +<p>“Look out, look out,” cried an old woman, through +her cupped hands.</p> + +<p>Gypo looked on either side hurriedly and then he +heard the excited breathing of the policeman +approaching from behind. He tried to turn about, +but the policeman was upon him. The policeman’s +hands closed about his biceps and jerked back both +his arms to lock them behind his back. The arms +were half-way back before Gypo could mobilize +his vast strength to arrest their retreat. There was +a loud snap of bones being strained taut when +Gypo’s strength collided with the policeman’s +strength at the point on Gypo’s biceps where the +policeman’s hands rested.</p> + +<p>Both men groaned loudly. The policeman’s boots +tore at the wet pavement, making a noise like dry +cloth being rent, as he struggled to keep firm. +Slowly Gypo leaned forward until the policeman’s +body was on his back.</p> + +<p>Then he thrust back his head with a snarl. His +poll collided with the policeman’s chin. There was a +dull thud and a snap. Gypo uttered an oath and +thrust his head downwards towards his knees, holding +his thighs rigid. Before the head had reached +the knees, the policeman had hurtled through the +air with a scream of terror, right over Gypo’s head.</p> + +<p>He fell with three separate soft sounds to the +street, with his right side against the concrete wall of +a house. He fell on his back. He rose again in the +middle, resting on his right hand and on his heels. +He brandished his left hand towards Gypo and at +the same time he tried to grip a fleeing spectator +with it. Then he moaned and subsided again.</p> + +<p>“Run, Gypo,” said somebody.</p> + +<p>Gypo ran towards a lane at a fast run. He was +followed by a crowd. Others gathered around the +fallen policeman.</p> + +<p>Gypo halted at the far end of the lane, in a dark +corner. The crowd gathered around him. Everybody +was panting with excitement. They all stared +down the lane towards the blaze of light where the +policeman lay. They began to jabber.</p> + +<p>“I can see trouble comin’,” said one. “The sojers +’ll be here shortly. Then yer goin’ to see some +pluggin’.”</p> + +<p>“Gwan,” said another contemptuously. “There’s +no sojers goin’ to come down here. Ye wouldn’t +get a sojer in the town to dare come within a mile +of Titt Street on this blessed night, after what +happened to-day.”</p> + +<p>At the mention of “what happened to-day,” a man +cursed, a woman crossed herself piously under her +shawl, an angry silence fell.</p> + +<p>Gypo stood with his hands in his pockets, paying +no heed to the talk. With his lips stuck out, he was +looking gloomily down the lane towards the blaze +of light. He was enjoying himself immensely.</p> + +<p>“Hist, hist!” somebody cried. “Look, look.”</p> + +<p>Two policemen crossed the blaze of light, bearing +their fallen comrade between them. A few women +and small boys followed them. Then two more +policemen came, hauling along the man whom Gypo +had struck. They were dragging him unceremoniously, +holding him by the armpits, with his +feet trailing along the ground and his arms dangling. +They were probably under the impression that it +was he who had felled their comrade. The man +made an effort to wrench himself free, but they +tightened their hold on his arms. He writhed and +went limp again, allowing himself to be dragged +lifelessly. A woman, with straggling red hair and a +child on her back in a black shawl, danced in front +of the policemen, screaming and gesticulating, +demanding the man’s release. Then the procession +passed out of sight with a mad rush of feet and a +medley of indiscriminate noises.</p> + +<p>“Let’s go back,” muttered a young man who had a +slight hump.</p> + +<p>Gypo grunted and hitched up his trousers. He put +his hand to his head to settle his hat jauntily before +leading the way back. But instead he uttered an +oath. His little round torn hat was not there. His +massive round skull stood bare under the night. It +stood naked, hummocked and gashed here and +there, like a badly shorn sheep. He traversed the +skull with his right palm, in little flurried rushes, +as if he had had a vague suspicion that the hat was +hiding somewhere along the expanse of skull. Then +he set out at a wild rush down the lane, followed by +the crowd, to retrieve the hat, as if his life depended +on it. For the first time, since Gallagher had given +his word, terror again invaded his mind. If they +discovered the hat they might be able to discover the +identity of that ponderous fellow who had gone into +the police-station. . . .</p> + +<p>But no. He rushed into the road and brought up +with a slither of his right foot on the wet pavement. +The hat was lying in the gutter before his eyes. It +lay crushed beside a flattened little cardboard +chocolate box and an orange skin. It had been trodden on +by a small bare foot. The impress of a wet heel was +on its right side.</p> + +<p>He grabbed it up hurriedly, punched it into shape +and crammed it on to his skull with both hands. +Then he laughed aloud and turned to the people.</p> + +<p>“I thought I had lost it,” he cried affectionately. +“I had it this two years.”</p> + +<p>The crowd gaped at the hat as if it had magical +properties. Others who had run up without +knowing what had already happened gaped at Gypo’s +humpy face, at his ruminative eyes and his eyebrows +that were like snouts, at the red fat backs of his +hands, as he held them to his throat tightening the +white woollen muffler about his neck. There were +agitated whispers on the outskirts of the ragged +crowd.</p> + +<p>“He’s stronger than any bull.”</p> + +<p>“How? Why? What did he do?” from a dozen +throats.</p> + +<p>“Wait till I tell ye. I saw him with me own eyes +send Scrapper Moloney o’ the B Division flyin’ over +his shoulder like a man divin’ off the Bull Wall. I +declare to me——”</p> + +<p>“I know him well. He used to be a bobby himself +once. His name is Nolan. Gypo Nolan. Didn’t ye +ever hear of him?”</p> + +<p>“Sure; usen’t he be pals with Frankie McPhillip +that was shot to-day?”</p> + +<p>“Sure I was,” broke in Gypo, overhearing the +remark; “an’ when ye speak o’ the dead, ye might add +Lord Have Mercy on him.”</p> + +<p>“Hear, hear,” cried several voices. “Hit him a +puck in the jaw. Who is he?”</p> + +<p>A noisy argument and a scuffle arose. The culprit +was hustled away, kicked and struck about the face, +until he made his escape by running at full speed +up the lane. Then they all crowded around Gypo +again.</p> + +<p>He stood head and shoulders above them, revelling +in the attention he was attracting. He stood so +impassively with his arms folded, that he might be +mistaken for a great scowling statue at a distance. +Then he suddenly raised his right hand and made a +circular movement with it.</p> + +<p>“Come on,” he cried wildly. “I’m goin’ to give +everybody here a feed. Come on. Come on every +mother’s son in this crowd that’s hungry.”</p> + +<p>He waved his arm towards the fried-fish and chip +shop and headed off towards the door.</p> + +<p>“Hurrah!”</p> + +<p>“Long life to ye, me darlin’ son of Erin.”</p> + +<p>“More power to yer elbow.”</p> + +<p>“Up the rebels.”</p> + +<p>Gypo strode in front of the disreputable throng as +proud as a king leading his courtiers. They came +after him with pattering feet, panting, pushing, +snivelling, emitting that variegated murmur of +sound that comes from a pack of wild things in a +panic, coming from afar, unseen, without a guiding +reason. They were the riff-raff and the jetsam of the +slums, the most degraded types of those who dwell in +the crowded warrens on either bank of the Liffey. +But to Gypo they were an audience to acclaim his +words and his deeds.</p> + +<p>“Before long ye’ll see me cock o’ the walk around +here,” he thought, as he strode into the shop. “Me +an’ Gallagher. Come on, every man jack an’ woman +too. Come on.”</p> + +<p>They packed the little shop to the door. There +was an overflow outside. It was warm within after +the drizzling rain and the sharp wind outside. The +air within the shop became almost immediately full +of the vapour of human breath. The low murmur of +breathing could be heard distinctly through the hum +of whispered conversation.</p> + +<p>“Hey there, towny,” cried Gypo to the shopkeeper, +“chuck us a feed for all hands. I’m payin’ for the +lot.”</p> + +<p>The shopkeeper was an Italian, a dark middle-aged +fellow with plaintive eyes. He looked at Gypo +and then at the crowd. Curiosity, fear, suspicion and +surprise raced across his face. Then he smiled and +nodded his head. He said something in a foreign +language to the girl who stood behind him and then +he began immediately to put steaming portions of +potatoes and fish into slips of old newspapers that +lay ready to hand. The girl, a red-cheeked young +woman with big black eyes, dressed in white, busied +herself, pushing to and fro on a long arrangement +like a sink, more fish and potatoes that were being +fried. A crackling noise came from this frying. A +hot, sweet and acrid smell permeated the whole room.</p> + +<p>The starved wastrels revelled in that smell. They +looked towards the frying food with eager mouths +and glistening eyes. Their nostrils smelt its heat and +its savour greedily. Their faces were all fierce and +emaciated. Their bodies were unkempt, crooked, +weazened. But just then, the joy of an unexpected +banquet had filled even their haggard and stupefied +souls with a pleasure that made them laugh and +chatter irresponsibly like children. The sorrows and +the miseries of life were forgotten in that moment +of common rejoicing. And perhaps that joyous +mumble of chattering voices, rising through the steam +in that slum eating-house, was a beautiful hymn of +praise to the spirit of life.</p> + +<p>And Gypo stood among them like some primeval +monster just risen from the slime in which all things +had their origin.</p> + +<p>While around him crowded the others, like insects +upon which he had been destined to fatten.</p> + +<p>As he looked about him, with the slow, languorous +eye movement of a resting bull, he felt the exaltation +and conceit of a conqueror at the hour of victory. +An intelligent being, gifted with such strength and +the power to analyse his sensations, would have +said: “This is the greatest moment of my life.” +But Gypo did not think. There was nothing about +him in relation to which he could think. A queen +will not dream of flaunting her beauty and her +raiment at a boors’ banquet. But she will, on a +public holiday, bow to their clamorous cheers. So +with Gypo.</p> + +<p>The cumbersome mechanism of his mind had been +put in motion that evening by the necessity for +forming a plan after leaving the police-station. The +unaccustomed strain had unmoored it. It floundered +about until Gallagher’s promise perched it on a +foolish eminence whence it regarded the rest of +humanity with contempt. It sprawled its ponderous +foundations on that crazy eminence as arrogantly as +if it were about to rest there for eternity.</p> + +<p>He rolled his eyes about at the heads that were +standing thickly around him, some on a level with +his biceps, some on a level with his waist, while here +and there a tall man like himself, stood with a red, +lean, knotted neck strained forward, with throbbing +throat, towards the food counter.</p> + +<p>“Biga lot o’ people,” murmured the Italian +suddenly, making a polite gesture with his hands to +indicate the number of people present and the nature +of his suspicions.</p> + +<p>“That’s all right,” muttered Gypo. “Count ’em as +ye hand out the grub. I’ll pay. Don’t you fret +yersel’. Keep back there.”</p> + +<p>He had been standing with his palms against the +edge of the marble-topped counter. Now, in order +to put his hand into his right trousers pocket, he had +to pick up a small-sized man and crush him in +between two women, who leaned away behind their +shawls. Then he thrust his hand into his pocket +and fingered the wad of Treasury notes. The very +touch of them sent a wave of remembrance through +his body. A slight tremor ran up, almost tangibly +like a breath of cold wind in a hot place, up the +extent of his body until it entered his brain. The +remembrance of the origin of that wad of notes +staggered him momentarily. He remembered the +fat white hand, surmounted by a carefully brushed +blue sleeve, that had handed him the wad over a +desk, saying ever so icily: “You’ll find twenty +pounds there. Go.”</p> + +<p>But after the first shock he curled his thick upper +lip slightly and licked it with the tip of his tongue. +The movement of his mouth had the appearance of a +grin. The girl who happened to glance at him just +then, found his gaze centred on her. She dropped +the fish slice into the pan with some sort of an +exclamation in a foreign language. But Gypo, +though he was looking at her, did not see her. He +was busy with his clumsy thick fingers, separating a +single note from the roll without taking the roll +from his pocket. At last he succeeded in doing so. +He grunted and pulled out a single Treasury note.</p> + +<p>He held it up.</p> + +<p>“Here ye are,” he cried. “This’ll pay for the lot. +Hand out the grub.”</p> + +<p>The Italian smiled immediately and began to serve +the packages into the eager hands that reached out +for them. He counted out loud as he did so: “One, +two, three, four . . .”</p> + +<p>An uproar commenced immediately. People +crowded in from the door struggling to get served. +Those who had been served struggled to get out +into the street, with their food in steaming, dripping, +paper packages in their hands. Altercations arose. +The shop was full of sound. There were catcalls, +whistling, cursing and laughing. Then a big docker +brought the uproar to a climax by smashing his big +boot through the wooden bottom of the counter, +uttering a drunken yell as he did so. Then he +sprawled over the counter, laughing foolishly and +reaching out with his two hands towards the girl +who shrank away terrified. The Italian uttered an +exclamation of terror. Gypo turned towards the +docker, lifted him up by the back and shouted:</p> + +<p>“Keep quiet.”</p> + +<p>The two words re-echoed through the shop, like +two rocks rolled down from opposite precipices and +meeting in a glen, with two separate sounds, a heavy +thick sound as they collide, a loud rasping sound +as their splintered fragments fly clashing into the +air.</p> + +<p>The words had scarcely passed out the door into +the night before a silence fell. Everybody stood +still. One man stopped in the act of sucking a +fish-bone between his lips.</p> + +<p>“Now carry on,” continued Gypo, “but don’t kick +up a row like a lot o’ cannibals. Don’t disgrace yer +country. A man ud think ye didn’t see a bite for a +year.”</p> + +<p>Then he himself turned towards the counter and +asked the Italian how many meals had been served. +Twenty-four meals had been served. He threw the +pound note on the counter.</p> + +<p>“Take out o’ that for three rounds for mesel’,” he +said.</p> + +<p>Then he pushed back his hat, drew a paper full of +food towards him and began to eat. Without speaking, +the Italian held the Treasury note between him +and the electric light and peered at each side of it +several times. Then he nodded his head and opened +his till.</p> + +<p>Mulholland had also strained his neck to peer at +the Treasury note. He had been standing in the +angle of the doorway all the time, silent and +immovable. As soon as he saw the pound note, he drew +out into the open and craned over the heads of the +people to look at it. A neighbour noticed him, a +ragged little fellow, who mistook the cause of +Mulholland’s curiosity.</p> + +<p>“Didn’t ye get any grub?” said the little man to +Mulholland. “It’s yer own fault if ye didn’t. Come +on, man. Don’t stand there hungry. Go on up to +the counter.”</p> + +<p>He caught Mulholland by the arm and tried to +push him towards the counter.</p> + +<p>“Leave me alone,” hissed Mulholland. “I don’t +want any grub. Let go.”</p> + +<p>“Go on up,” pursued the little fellow; “go on, man. +Didn’t ye hear him say he was standin’ a round for +everybody. Go on up.”</p> + +<p>“Let go, I tell ye. Let go. I don’t want it, I say.”</p> + +<p>But it was no use for Mulholland to refuse. The +more he refused the more the little fellow was +determined that he should be fed. Others joined in, +eager for some amazing reason or other that +Mulholland should be fed. It seemed that they +suspected something indecent and improper in +Mulholland’s refusal to eat.</p> + +<p>“Call out,” cried somebody, “call out for another +ration. Bring it down to him.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, why shouldn’t he have his share as well as +the next?”</p> + +<p>“Let me alone,” cried Mulholland in a rage; “let +me alone, or I’ll smash yer skull for ye.”</p> + +<p>That put a different aspect on the question. +There were a dozen angry oaths.</p> + +<p>“So that’s what’s the matter with ye. Yer lookin’ +for fight, eh?”</p> + +<p>“Stand back an’ let me at him,” cried somebody +in the rear, pressing forward.</p> + +<p>Mulholland tried to rush for the door, but they +held on to him.</p> + +<p>“What the hell is the matter now?” thundered +Gypo, striding over.</p> + +<p>Immediately the scuffling stopped. Gypo came +face to face with Mulholland. He saw Mulholland’s +little eyes, gleaming and flashing like the eyes of a +cat beset by dogs. There was a tense moment during +which Gypo struggled with obscure suspicions. +But suddenly the expression on Mulholland’s face +changed into an expression of cunning intimacy. +His face instead of being fierce and resentful +suddenly seemed to say: “We are members of the +Revolutionary Organization, you and I. Get this +rabble out of my way.” Gypo immediately remembered +Gallagher’s promise. He looked at Mulholland +with a good-natured condescension. “Ha,” he +thought, “this fellah’ll be useful.”</p> + +<p>“Let him alone,” he cried arrogantly; “he’s a friend +o’ mine. How are ye gettin’ on, Bartly?”</p> + +<p>Then he continued carelessly, to impress the crowd +with his own importance and his intimacy with the +affairs of the Revolutionary Organization, which was +the most impressive thing in the lives of those about +him.</p> + +<p>“Hear anythin’ yet about what I was tellin’ ye? +I mean about the fellah that informed on Frankie +McPhillip?”</p> + +<p>Mulholland was amazed for a moment. What +audacity! But it was not audacity. Gypo had +completely forgotten the ponderous fellow in the little +tattered round hat who had gone into the +police-station. His sudden conceit had completely +swallowed that ponderous fellow.</p> + +<p>“He must be drunk,” thought Mulholland. He +said aloud, whispering to Gypo, as he bent his head +close and turned up his face sideways in his peculiar +manner, “I was just passin’ an’ saw ye. I just +thought I’d drop in an’ tell ye I’d be there at one +o’clock. Ye know where I mean? No, we didn’t +hear anythin’ yet about that.”</p> + +<p>He winked his right eye. Gypo winked his right +eye and nodded solemnly. Then Mulholland walked +quickly out the door, evidently going off somewhere +in a hurry. But he halted at the corner of the lane, +distended his eyes and gritted his teeth. He rubbed +his chin meditatively, looking at the ground. He +couldn’t make it out, whatever it was, that was +troubling his mind.</p> + +<p>Gypo turned once more to the counter and continued +his meal. He ate as if he were about to travel +for days and he were deliberately devouring a store +of food sufficient to last to the end of the journey. +Behind him and on either side of him, they were +talking about his strength and praising him, but +he paid no heed to them. He was immersed in +dreams about his future, now that Gallagher was +going to take him back again into the Organization.</p> + +<p>“Aha!” cried an old woman, with watery blue eyes +and a wrinkled white face, as she shook her fist +upwards at him, “I wish I had a son like ye. Me own +Jimmy, Lord Have Mercy on him, was killed in the +big war. He was the boy that could bate the polis! +Don’t be talkin’. I seen him wan night an’ it took +six o’ them to pull him off a coal cart an’ he holdin’ +on to the horse’s reins all the time with wan hand +while he was fightin’ them with th’ other.”</p> + +<p>She stamped on the floor and yelled, her eyes +gleaming ferociously, as if the contemplation of her +dead son’s fight gave her tangible pleasure. Then +she walked towards the door, trailing her shawl and +her arms with bravado. The poor woman was +slightly insane as the result of paralysis.</p> + +<p>A tall, sour-faced, lean man, with a red nose shaped +like a reversed scimitar, who had just come in, +looked after the old woman and shook his head. He +mumbled something under his breath. The old lady +halted and looked at him contemptuously.</p> + +<p>“What are ye sniggerin’ at,” she cried, “you with a +face like a plate o’ burnt porridge?”</p> + +<p>There was a loud laugh.</p> + +<p>“Mary Hynes,” said the hook-nosed man, “if ye +were more careful of yer son’s upbringin’ an’ of yer +own immortal soul, ye wouldn’t be in the state ye +are in now. Is it boastin’ of yer son’s lawlessness ye +are? Are ye boastin’ of his livin’ crimes an’ he +already gone to meet his God?”</p> + +<p>The hook-nosed man raised his right hand dramatically +to point at the ceiling and he glared at the +old woman with fierce and menacing sorrow. But +his words produced a contrary effect to that which +he expected on the old woman. She looked at him +contemptuously and then curled her mouth up in +anger.</p> + +<p>“Yerrah, d’ye call it a crime to bate a policeman?” +she cried in amazed indignation.</p> + +<p>“Certainly it is a crime,” cried the hook-nosed +man.</p> + +<p>“Damn an’ blast it, what are ye talkin’ about, +Boxer Lydon?” cried a burly fellow coming up to +Lydon and staring him excitedly and angrily in the +face. “Didn’t ye hear of what the polis did to-day to +Frankie McPhillip? D’ye call it a crime to bate that +murderin’ lot? Aye or shoot them either!”</p> + +<p>“I don’t say they were justified in what they did +to-day,” cried Lydon, raising his voice to a querulous +shout in order to drown the uproar; “but neither will +I say that the dead man was justified in what he done. +Do none o’ ye think o’ the man McPhillip killed? +Wasn’t he a fellow-man like yersel’? Wasn’t he an +Irishman of the same flesh an’ blood?”</p> + +<p>“Aw! that’s nationalism,” cried somebody. +“What’s an Irishman no more than a Turk? Ye +belong to the I. R. B., an’ that’s where ye get yer +lingo. Up the workers!”</p> + +<p>The hook-nosed man paused with his hand raised +until the interrupter finished. Then he continued +unmoved:</p> + +<p>“Do none o’ ye think that maybe that man left a +mother an’ a——”</p> + +<p>But he had to stop. His voice was drowned in the +uproar and the scuffling. The old woman began to +sing “Kelly the boy from Killane,” as she strolled out +the door. Another man was pushing his way in +through the crowd at the door towards the +hook-nosed man. This new-comer had been standing at +the door for some time. He was dressed from head +to foot in a heavy black overcoat. He was better +dressed than everybody present, but he looked as pale +and haggard as the others. His face continually +twitched and his eyes were bloodshot. He looked at +the hook-nosed man fiercely and seized him +nervously by the buttonhole. The hook-nosed man +edged away.</p> + +<p>“For God’s sake, let up on that rubbish,” cried the +new-comer, stammering at each word. His upper +lip was contorting as if he were in a fit.</p> + +<p>“Let me go,” cried the hook-nosed man. “I’ll +have my say, an’ I won’t be intimidated by any +Socialist agitator. Keep back from me.”</p> + +<p>“I only wanted to tell ye,” shouted the other, “I +only wanted to tell ye . . . I say . . . I say . . .”</p> + +<p>Then nothing could be distinguished above the +uproar. Everybody present took part in the argument. +The ragged fellows who had come in with Gypo, +curiously enough, took no interest in the argument. +Those of them that had not already disappeared +as soon as they got their food, now took their leave +when the argument began. There was even a look of +fear in their faces as they slunk away, as if this +demonstration of interest in the affairs of the world +terrified them, who had no interest in anything, since +their souls were numbed by the hopelessness of +despair. Only a few of the most wretched remained, +crouching against the counter, in the comforting +shadow of Gypo’s immensity. They remained +because the presence of his powerful personality +comforted them and gave them the imaginary feeling +of having something to protect them from the menace +of civilized life.</p> + +<p>Those that were now taking part in the argument +were of a better class. They were workers of all +sorts, members of trade unions and respectable +people. They had appeared somehow, one by one but +rapidly, in that mysterious way in which crowds of +people of a certain type gather in the Titt Street +district and carry on an argument with furious heat.</p> + +<p>Gypo suddenly turned around and looked at the +wrangling group, at the open mouths, the listening +ears, the distorted faces, the glittering eyes. He +listened. He blinked. Then he laughed softly within +himself. He felt a crazy desire to yell and fall on +them with his fists. The mixed murmur of their +agitated voices had a maddening effect on him. But +he looked back at the counter. He still had food +to eat. He continued his meal. The argument +went on.</p> + +<p>The man with the long overcoat who had just +arrived held the attention of the crowd. He was a +well-known man in the district and all over the city. +He owned a small tobacconist and newsvendor’s +shop. He was called The Crank Shanahan and indeed +he was a crank. He belonged to no organization, +he went about alone, he attended every political +meeting in the city and he was continually, in all +weathers, agitating and preaching in a loud shrill +voice his own peculiar philosophy of social life. +That philosophy was a mixture of all sorts of +political creeds, but its main basis was revolt against +every existing institution, habit or belief. He was +called an anarchist, but he was not an anarchist. He +was just a fanatic who was dissatisfied with life. At +night he was given to fearfully morbid thoughts that +caused him to lock and bar himself in his room and +sleep with the blankets right over his head. He was +even supposed to put cotton-wool into his ears at +night lest he might hear a sound. And once the +policeman on duty found him wandering around the +street in which he lived, at three o’clock in the +morning, dressed in a torn nightshirt, trembling and +gnashing his teeth with terror. He had jumped up +horrified by a nightmare and rushed out in that +state.</p> + +<p>“Listen,” he cried. “I don’t agree with the +Revolutionary Organization, but the man that killed +McPhillip . . . no . . . no, no . . . I mean the man . . . +can’t ye let me speak? . . . I mean the farmer +that McPhillip killed, he was an agent of the capitalist +class. Then it follows logically that he was an +enemy of the working class. McPhillip was an agent +of the working class. He was justified in killing the +man. That’s the matter treated logically and +brought to a logical conclusion. Everything must +be approached logically. Listen. Taking the +question from a wider standpoint we can get a broader +judgment that will fit all cases of the kind that may +arise”—he raised his voice to a scream to drown the +noise of a scuffle at the door—“in the near future. +We are at the base of a world revolutionary wave. +According as that wave advances and gathers +strength the whole process of capitalist society will +crumble up. Then there will be a gradual increase +in the number of these skirmishes, as it were on +the . . .”</p> + +<p>His voice was drowned suddenly by a big man who +began to swing his arms about his head uttering a +fearful torrent of oaths. He was drunk. Then +Lydon shouted:</p> + +<p>“Murder is murder, I say. Murder is always +murder and the gospel of Our Lord Jesus Christ +says——”</p> + +<p>“There must be no mercy,” yelled a little man +with a black moustache, who rushed into a corner +where he had room to prance about. “There must +be no mercy. To hell with everybody. That right, +boys? Wha’?”</p> + +<p>“What are ye talkin’ about?” cried Gypo, +suddenly turning about.</p> + +<p>Silence fell immediately. Everybody looked at +him. His face was perspiring. He rubbed his +hands on his chest. He curled up his lips. He gave +his little hat a slight push towards the back of his +head.</p> + +<p>Then he was seized by another fit of strange +humour. He yelled once more and staggered towards +the crowd, with his arms hanging loose, pretending +to be dead drunk. They fell away from him +in amazement. He stood in the middle of the room +and looked about him.</p> + +<p>“What ye talkin’ about?” he drawled ponderously, +swaying backwards and forwards.</p> + +<p>He glared from face to face, but each pair of eyes +was turned away as he sought them. He was +delighted with the terror he caused. Behind the +counter the Italian, still smiling, had grasped a large +knife and stood perfectly still. The girl was crouching +on the floor. Then Gypo broke into a loud laugh, +stuck his hands in his trousers pockets and strolled +towards the door.</p> + +<p>He hesitated for a moment outside the door. +Then he headed straight across the road. They all +ran to the door to look after him. His huge long +frame, clad in blue dungarees that clung to his thighs, +shone in the light of the lamps as he crossed the +wide road, one foot advancing past the other slowly, +the trousers brushing with the sound of hay being +cut with a scythe. Then the figure left the area of +light and grew dim as he gained the pavement at +the far side, and turned to the left under the shadow +of an abrupt tall house. Then he fell away into the +night.</p> + +<p>Presently a lean slouching figure crept across the +street in pursuit. He also disappeared under the +shadow of the abrupt house. Nobody noticed him. +It was Mulholland tracking Gypo.</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter" id="ch09"> + +<h2>Chapter IX</h2> + +<p>Around the corner Gypo halted. He put +his hand against the wall behind him and +stood motionless, with his head turned back, +listening. He had heard a step following him. But +the steps halted also. He listened for several seconds +breathlessly and heard nothing further. Then he +snorted and turned his head slowly to his front. +He looked ahead into the darkness, dreamily. He +stood perfectly still.</p> + +<p>Then his face broke slowly into a sort of smile and +his eyes grew dim. He trembled slightly. He +glanced about him sharply and furtively several +times. There was a strange, almost mysterious +“significance” in his movements, slight, sudden, +furtive movements.</p> + +<p>Then he stared steadily down along the dark, +narrow street that stretched ahead of him, ending at +the far end in a high wall, with a dim lamp at one +corner suggesting that another street branched off +it to the left. He winked his right eye at the lamp +and a roguish expression creased his face as he +did so.</p> + +<p>“Why not,” he muttered aloud. “Why shouldn’t +I go an’ have a bit o’ fun? Wha’? A few bob on +the women an’ a few drinks to keep me supper +warm.”</p> + +<p>A wave of passion surged through his body. He +was on the point of opening his mouth to utter a yell, +but instead he thrust his hand into his trousers +pocket anxiously and groped for his wad of money. +He found it. He sighed easily.</p> + +<p>“They might have pinched it,” he muttered with a +look of gravity in his little eyes. “That mob around +there are a lot o’ wasters. Ye couldn’t trust yer shirt +with ’em on a winter’s night. They’d take the +charley from under a pope’s bed. Terrible lot o’ +criminals around lately.”</p> + +<p>Then his face lit up with eagerness as his mind +swerved back again to the contemplation of that +lamp at the far end . . . and where that street led. +He swallowed his breath with a loud noise and set +out towards the lamp.</p> + +<p>Almost immediately a head peered around the +corner behind him. The head watched until Gypo +turned to the left at the far end past the lamp. +Then a man darted around the corner and raced +down the street in pursuit. It was Mulholland +tracking Gypo.</p> + +<p>When Gypo turned to the left past the lamp he +came into a narrow street in which there were no +houses. On the right-hand side there was a high +wall, like a barrack wall. It enclosed a big goods +yard belonging to a manufactory, where mineral +waters or something of that kind were made. On +the other side of the street there was no wall at all. +The foundations of houses still remained. Here and +there, a doorway, a chimney stack, or the brick +framework of a window, stood up in a ghastly +fashion. Beyond that there was an open space full +of refuse, mounds of earth, bricks, pots, old clothes. +The street itself was a network of puddles. In order +to avoid wetting himself to the knees, Gypo had to +walk along the sloping bank of clay where the houses +had crumbled.</p> + +<p>It was a dreary sight. It almost shouted its +experiences, and if it had shouted, it would have talked +in that endless, loud, babbling scream in which +maniacs and demented creatures utter their words. +It was alive in that peculiar way in which ruins are +alive at night, when the earth is covered with +darkness and the living sleep.</p> + +<p>But Gypo was not sensitive. For him, the street, +with its dirt and its squalor, was a savage sauce to +whet his appetite for the riotous feast of . . . He +strode rapidly. He jumped from mound to mound, +now slipping with a curse, now catching a loose +brick in some piece of wall to steady himself. Now +and again he heard a “hist” from the opposite wall +of the street, where some woman, old and decrepit, +sought the darkness so that her ravaged figure might +escape the drunken eyes of some passionate fellow +seeking a fool’s pleasure. These noises, croaks +uttered by damned souls, sounds so tremendously +horrid to the innocent mind, made no impression on +Gypo. To him they were merely noises, expressions +of everyday life.</p> + +<p>Once he recognized one of the women who took a +pace forward from her position and put a wrinkled +hand to her brow to look at him.</p> + +<p>“Ho! Blast yer sowl, Maggie Casey,” he +muttered, “aren’t ye dead yet?”</p> + +<p>He chuckled with laughter as he heard her +blasphemous rejoinder.</p> + +<p>As he approached the far end of the street the +silence lessened. He heard whisperings and murmurs, +snatches of distant song, sounds of footfalls, +strains of music. These sounds acted on him like +battle-cries. He almost broke into a run as he came +gradually nearer to the volume of sound. At last he +dashed under an old archway and he was in the next +street. The medley of sound was all about him. +On his left-hand side stretched the long, low streets +of brothels, entwined like webwork among the ruins +of what was once a resort of the nobility of +eighteenth-century Dublin.</p> + +<p>He was in a narrow street of two-storied houses, +low houses with green venetian blinds on the windows +of some of them, their street doors opened wide, +lights in all the front, ground-floor windows. But +the street itself was in darkness on account of the +drizzling rain. An odd woman flitted along. A few +men walked about uncertainly. The street had a +gloomy deserted look. But from the houses a +medley of joyous sound issued.</p> + +<p>Gypo looked on for a moment excitedly. Then he +walked down the street slowly, examining each house +as he passed. He knew Katie Fox was by now at +Biddy Burke’s. He wanted to avoid Biddy Burke’s. +Biddy Burke’s house was over on the other side. +He didn’t want to go there to-night. It was only a +poor place, used by revolutionaries and criminals of +the working-class type. The women there were an +ugly, ill-dressed, whisky-drinking lot. He was well +known there. He knew all the women. There was +only Guinness’s stout on sale and even that was so +diluted and ghastly that it was like drinking castor +oil. The more a man drank of it the thirstier he +became. A shilling a drink for poison like that!</p> + +<p>Yah! Away with Biddy Burke and Katie Fox +and Sligo Cissie and the rest of them! To-night he +wanted to go somewhere where he was not known. +He wanted to go among beautiful women. Strange, +beautiful women clothed in silk! Mad women! +Women with dark, flashing eyes and sharp, white +teeth! Huh! He wanted to go mad. It was a mad +night. There was fire in his blood. His hands +wanted to rip mountains. He would swallow tankards +of drink. He would drain this vast reservoir of +strength from his body. He must or he would burst. +Already he felt a desire to beat his head against +walls.</p> + +<p>For six months he had been walking about a beggar, +cut off from pleasure, subject to Katie Fox’s +charity. Phew! She was no longer attractive to +him, that bag of bones who thought of nothing but +dope.</p> + +<p>Suddenly, without thinking, breathing heavily, +flushed, excited like a man inhaling chloroform, he +staggered through a doorway. He stood in a long, +dark hall. He could hear laughter and drunken singing +coming from his right, a few yards down the hall, +from behind a door through which a glint of light +came. He strode to the door. He tried to lift the +latch and walk in, but the door was bolted. Almost +instantly the sounds ceased. He kicked at the +bottom of the door with his boot several times.</p> + +<p>“Who’s that?” came a woman’s voice angrily.</p> + +<p>“Open the door an’ find out,” answered Gypo in a +shout.</p> + +<p>“Wait a minute, Betty,” came a husky man’s +voice; “lemme out.”</p> + +<p>There was shuffling and whispering.</p> + +<p>“Keep well behind it,” said somebody else.</p> + +<p>Then the bolt was withdrawn. The latch was +lifted carefully. The door opened slowly about three +inches. Gypo watched these proceedings nervously +and angrily.</p> + +<p>“Come on, come on,” he cried at last, “what’s all +this monkey trickin’ about? Why don’t ye open the +door wide and take yer mug outa the way?”</p> + +<p>The man suddenly slipped outside the door like a +cat. With his back to the door and his right hand +bulging in his coat pocket he faced Gypo. He was a +stocky, bulgy fellow, with a criminal face. He had +rushed out with the intention of giving Gypo a +thrashing with the “blackjack” that was concealed on +his person, but when he saw the kind of customer +with whom he had to deal his jaw dropped. Gypo +gazed at the fellow angrily.</p> + +<p>“So you’re the pimp,” he gurgled ferociously.</p> + +<p>He took a little hurried breath, shot out his right +hand and seized the pimp by the throat. The pimp +gasped. His right hand dropped the “blackjack.” +He reached up with his two hands to grip the giant +hand that held his throat.</p> + +<p>“Lemme go,” he screamed.</p> + +<p>But Gypo contemptuously hurled him away from +the door and sent him sprawling along the hall into +the darkness. Then he sent the door flying open +with a push of his shoulder and strode blinking into +the room.</p> + +<p>The room was crowded with people. It was very +large. It had a stone floor and a wide, open hearth +where an immense turf fire was blazing in a huge +grate, with steaming kettles on either side, on the +hobs. There was a dresser loaded with shining +Delftware of all colours. The ceiling was high and +white-washed. The walls were covered with pictures +of women, in amorous postures and in the varying +degrees of nakedness that might be expected to +arouse libidinous desires in the minds of all types of +men. Everything in the room was spotlessly clean, +but the air was warm and heavy, due to the rather +intense heat of the fire and the combined odour of +perfume and of alcohol.</p> + +<p>This heavy, languorous odour exalted Gypo. He +rolled his eyes round the room, drawing in a deep +breath through his expanded nostrils. Everybody +was looking at him. There were eight men present, +three students from the University, an artist, a +doctor and three young gentleman farmers, up from +the country “on a tear.” They had hired the brothel +for the night and ordered the proprietress to admit +nobody; but they did not take umbrage at Gypo’s +appearance. They were just at that moment in the +delicious stage of intoxication when the most strange +incidents become normal and welcome, to minds that +are cloyed with alcohol fumes and the contemplation +of bodily pleasures. The scuffle outside the door +and the manner of Gypo’s entrance made no impression +on them. His appearance, huge, towering, in a +suit of dungarees, with his little round hat perched +on his massive skull, intrigued them with a feeling +that this was some new kind of pleasure provided +for their entertainment. They looked at him, half +laughing, half serious, with that dim and distant look +in their eyes that comes with the initial stages of +drunkenness.</p> + +<p>The women, on the other hand, looked at Gypo +with disfavour. There were ten of them present. +Some of them were almost nude and in various stages +of intoxication, sitting on the men’s knees, with +glasses in their hands and cigarettes in their mouths. +Others sat solemnly on their chairs dressed for the +street, as if they had just dropped in on their way +somewhere. Their hard faces set in a scowl when +they saw Gypo. He was dressed like a workman. +Therefore he had no money. Therefore they scowled +at him. This was an “upper-class” brothel. All the +women here were “ladies.” Their “class” instincts +were aroused by his wretched clothes and his +uncouth features.</p> + +<p>One woman alone took no notice of him whatsoever. +She sat in a corner, reading a newspaper, with +her legs crossed, a cigarette between her lips, a +fashionable short fur coat wrapped around her. +Gypo’s eyes wandered around the room until they +rested on her. There they remained.</p> + +<p>“What d’ye want?” cried a harsh voice behind +him.</p> + +<p>Gypo turned. The proprietress of the brothel was +standing beside the door. Her left hand was on her +breast fingering a little silver crucifix that was +suspended from her neck by a black velvet cord. Her +right hand rested on the door, a short, white, fat +hand, as if she were waiting until Gypo went out so +as to shut the door again. She was a small, fat +woman of middle age, with a huge head of devilishly +black hair, arranged in towering fashion, with a +glittering black comb stuck in the rear of the pile. +Her hair was the last remains of her beauty. The +remainder of her head had been coarsened by the +odious nature of her pursuits. Her face was +blotched, wrinkled and pale. Her eyes were yellow, +hard, sunken and bloodshot. Her mouth was drawn +together as if some clumsy fellow had tried to stitch +the lips and made a bad job of it. She was +dressed in a blue skirt and a white blouse. The +blouse sleeves were rolled almost up to her shoulders +showing a tremendously fat pair of arms. They +called her Aunt Betty and she was known all over +the district for her cunning, her meanness and the +peculiar habit she had, perhaps in the middle of a +conversation, of suddenly uttering a coarse expression, +grasping her breasts and staring about her wild-eyed, +as if she were afraid of some dread spectre +being in pursuit of her.</p> + +<p>Gypo did not know her, because her place was +fashionable, frequented only by well-to-do people, +business men, army officers and students who had +money to spend. Gypo only knew the cheaper +brothels, places that were used as “friendly houses” +by revolutionaries, criminals and working men. On +any other night he would never think of entering the +place, no more than a man in overalls would think of +taking a seat in the stalls of a London theatre. But +to-night he had transcended himself. He looked at +Aunt Betty arrogantly with his lower lip hanging.</p> + +<p>“I want a drink,” he replied gruffly, in a low voice. +Then he added after a pause with a sudden hoarse +chuckle, “an’ anythin’ else that’s goin’.”</p> + +<p>“Ye can’t get a drink here,” said Aunt Betty. +“You better be going somewhere else. You’re +wasting your time here, my good man.”</p> + +<p>Aunt Betty spoke in a state of great excitement. +This was habitual with her, owing to the terrific strain +it caused her to try to effect the correct +pronunciation of her words and “the educated accent of a +woman of good family.” For she always tried to +speak like a lady.</p> + +<p>Gypo took no notice of her, or of the pimp who had +again entered the room and now stood against the +wall, with his terror-stricken eyes gleaming and his +face livid with malice.</p> + +<p>“Here,” he cried, “give everybody a drink. I’m +callin’ a drink for the house.”</p> + +<p>He thrust his hand into his pocket, pulled out the +roll of notes and separated one, which he held out to +Aunt Betty. It was like the performance of a +miracle. Aunt Betty’s eyes sparkled. She advanced +almost unconsciously, laughing with her thin, hard +lips, while her eyes gleamed with avarice. Her +fingers almost trembled as she took the note slowly. +Feverishly, she examined it under the light. Gypo +laughed as she did so and gave her a loud, hearty +smack on the back, with horrid familiarity. She +merely nudged him playfully in response. The note +was genuine and had passed her scrutiny. She +sighed and cracked her fingers towards the pimp.</p> + +<p>“Glasses all round,” she said.</p> + +<p>There was a little thrill of applause from the +throats of the women as soon as they saw that his +money was genuine. Some of those who were sitting +alone, dressed for the street, got up and approached +him, uttering laughing endearments. Even the +women who were already engaged, sitting on the +knees of the men, slightly tipsy, sobered up and +became contemplative and sulkily jealous of those +women who were free to capture Gypo and his wad +of Treasury notes.</p> + +<p>The men, on the other hand, now regarded him +with hostility, jealous of the attraction he held for +the women.</p> + +<p>Only one person in the room took absolutely no +notice of the whole proceedings. That was the +woman in the fur coat, who sat in the corner to the +right of the fire, reading the newspaper.</p> + +<p>And Gypo, disregarding the soft, naked arms that +attempted to embrace him and the amorous, sensuous +faces, that were turned up to his on all sides and +the soft, seductive, sibilant whispers that were +uttered at him, kept his eyes towards the indifferent +woman in the corner fixedly.</p> + +<p>“Keep out of me way,” he muttered.</p> + +<p>He pushed the girls away from him, strode over to +the corner and stood beside the mysterious one. He +stood over her, breathing heavily, looking down at +her. She glanced at his knees from under her +eyelids. Then she puffed at her cigarette, flicked +something off her sleeve with her thumb and forefinger +and went on reading her newspaper. The other +women looked on silently with narrowed eyes. The +men began to smile. Everybody was interested in +what the fur-coated woman would do.</p> + +<p>Gypo sat down beside her. He sat on the floor +with his back to the wall.</p> + +<p>“Aren’t ye hot wearin’ that fur coat?” he said.</p> + +<p>She did not reply. There was a titter from the +women.</p> + +<p>“What’s all the news in the paper about?” +continued Gypo.</p> + +<p>The woman did not reply. One of the men burst +into laughter, making a sound like an explosion, as +if his mouth had been full of laughter a long time +and it suddenly burst out.</p> + +<p>“Horrid man! Go ’way,” said somebody else, +mimicking the voice of a timid and refined woman.</p> + +<p>Gypo’s face darkened and his throat veins swelled +ominously. But just then the drinks arrived. He +jumped to his feet and rushed over to the pimp who +was carrying them. He drained one glass of whisky, +then another, then another. An outcry arose.</p> + +<p>“Hey, don’t drink the lot.”</p> + +<p>“Savage.”</p> + +<p>“What d’ye mean by callin’ a drink for us an’ then +swallowin’ ’em all yoursel’?”</p> + +<p>“Hey! Stop him, Johnny. Take the tray away +from him.”</p> + +<p>“You all go to the divil,” gasped Gypo. The +whisky rushing down his throat had taken his breath +away. “Wait there. There’s lots more.”</p> + +<p>He pulled out another pound note and tossed it to +Aunt Betty carelessly.</p> + +<p>“There ye are,” he cried, “go an’ get more drinks.”</p> + +<p>Then amid the delighted yells of the girls he +drained three more glasses one after the other, each +one at a gulp, while the women danced around him.</p> + +<p>Suddenly the whole company went into a state of +mad excitement. Human beings always respond in +that way to the mysterious influence of a fresh and +dominant personality, who, with a word, a gesture, a +shout, turns a solemn and bored gathering into an +almost Bacchanalian party. It seemed that all the +people in the room had only awaited the arrival of +Gypo to abandon themselves completely to an orgy +of mad behaviour. Shouts, shrieks, smacking kisses, +laughter, mingled chaotically in the warm air of +the room. Each of the men vied with his neighbours +in an exaggerated attempt to make a fool of himself. +A young man with an innocent, red face and beautiful +grey eyes, a student, stood up precariously in +front of the fire, laughing incontinently and began +to strip himself naked. Another man, a big fellow, +seized a girl in his arms, tumbled with her to the +floor and lay there shouting and trying to kiss her, +while she struggled to free her loosened hair from +beneath his shoulder. Gypo picked up two women +and perched them one on each shoulder. Then he +seized two others round the waist, raised them from +the ground under his arms and began to jump into +the air, yelling like a bull with each jump, while his +fluttering, half-naked cargo of women laughed +hysterically as they dangled about him.</p> + +<p>This amazing scene lasted fully a quarter of an +hour and then ended suddenly. Everybody seemed +to be exhausted. It was only then that Aunt Betty’s +voice was heard above the uproar.</p> + +<p>“Do ye want to get me run in be the police?” she +cried.</p> + +<p>“It’s all right, mother,” said Gypo, going up to her +and putting his arm around her waist. “Yer a nice +girl. I’ll keep order here for ye. Now who is +kickin’ up a row? The next fellah that speaks above +a whisper I’ll open his skull for him.”</p> + +<p>“Would you, though?” cried the young man who +was stripping himself naked. He stood in front of +the fire in his trousers and underwear with his shirt +in his hand. “I’ll teach you manners, my good fellow,” +he continued, pulling up his trousers and brandishing +his shirt. “Come on. I’ll teach you how to +behave yourself in the presence of gentlemen.”</p> + +<p>But somebody pulled him on to a settee before he +could do anything. Gypo looked at him for a moment +and then he laughed. His eyes were gleaming. +The quantity of whisky he had drunk was coursing +through his head and his limbs as if it were being +pumped methodically by a machine. He released +Aunt Betty and took a pace towards the centre of the +floor. Then he shivered all over and gasped for +breath. He broke into a laugh. He walked over to +the fur-coated woman without looking in her +direction. He stooped down, put his arms about her, +lifted her up until her face was level with his and he +kissed her. His clumsy lips met her right cheek. +They groped about for her mouth, but they could not +reach it on account of her frantic efforts to free +herself. He lost his balance and let her down to the +floor. He regained his balance, laughing heavily and +wiping his mouth on his sleeve.</p> + +<p>There was an intense silence. The woman stood in +front of him erect and trembling. She held her +hands rigid by her sides, with the long, slender fingers +bent backwards. She was dressed in excellent taste, +black shoes, navy-blue skirt, short fur coat, small, +black hat, from under whose brim brown curls +protruded. She was a handsome woman, a beautiful +woman, but for her face. The left side of her face +was disfigured in a ghastly way from the temple to +the jaw. So that one cheek was white and the other +almost black. The left eye was darkened and almost +sightless, while the right eye was blue, clear and +gleaming with anger. The disfigurement touched +the corner of her mouth. The remainder of the +mouth was red-lipped, arched and beautiful.</p> + +<p>Suddenly, she bared her white teeth and spat at +Gypo with the ferocity of a wild animal.</p> + +<p>He shivered. His hands clawed up. His face +contorted and he swivelled his head on his neck from +left to right and back again, like a ram that is going +to charge an enemy. A woman near the fire gasped +with horror. But Gypo did not attack. Instead of +advancing on the woman he took a pace to his rear +and let his breath out through his nostrils with a +great noise. Then he stood motionless, with his eyes +distended, staring at the infuriated woman in awe +and wonder. She was staring at him with her eyes +almost closed.</p> + +<p>“You pig,” she gasped.</p> + +<p>There was a painful silence. Each person in the +room felt sure that a catastrophe was imminent. +The fact that the room, a few minutes before, had +been full of the sound of libidinous revelry made the +silence all the more terrible. Everybody watched +Gypo. His huge body, monstrous with strange +movement, stood under the glare of the lamp that +hung from the ceiling. His face, staring steadily at +the woman, changed again and again, in response to +the dark and mysterious suggestions that chased one +another through his mind. At one moment his chest +would heave and his limbs would stiffen. Then his +breath would come out with a snap. His jaws would +set. His eyes would expand. A movement would +begin in his throat. Then a sound like a curtailed +snort would come from his nostrils.</p> + +<p>At last, after waiting for twenty seconds, the +spectators were startled by the unexpected outcome of +these movements. Gypo broke into a roar of laughter. +He raised his head and laughed at the ceiling. +Everybody gaped at him in fright. All gaped at +him, terrified, except the woman. As if in response +to his laughter, laughter broke from her lips too, +but it was the shrill, thin laughter of hysteria, that +made her eyes glitter coldly.</p> + +<p>Breaking off in the middle of his laugh, Gypo +strode over to Aunt Betty. He took her by the arm, +pointed his finger at the woman in the fur coat and +whispered hoarsely:</p> + +<p>“I want her. Get me a room. I want to take her +upstairs. Ye can have whatever money ye ask.”</p> + +<p>“Never,” shrieked the woman in the fur coat.</p> + +<p>She put her hands to her face. Then she took a +tiny step forward with her right foot and stood +leaning on the foot, trembling as if she had planted it +on ice.</p> + +<p>“None of this nonsense, Phyllis,” said Aunt Betty, +coming forward to the centre of the room. She +faced the fur-coated woman with her arms akimbo +and her jaws squared. “I’m fed up with your +swagger. You’re no better than yer board and lodging, +an’ as long as I keep you, you’re no better than +any other woman that takes bite and sup in my +house. Put that in your pipe and smoke it. One +man is as good as another. You’re going with him.”</p> + +<p>“That’s true, Aunt Betty,” cried several women, +looking with hatred at the fur-coated woman.</p> + +<p>“Rabble,” shrieked the fur-coated woman, stamping +her feet and shaking her fists all round her at the +women. “What filthy souls you have to be reduced +to this level. I’m not a prostitute like you and that’s +why you hate me. You hate me because I’m an +educated woman and——”</p> + +<p>“It’s nothin’ o’ the kind,” cried a big, large-boned, +red-faced, strong, handsome woman, called Connemara +Maggie. “We hate ye because yer a stuck-up, +ignorant thing, that thinks she’s better than what +God turned her into; an’ God forgive me for +sayin’ so——”</p> + +<p>“More power to ye, Maggie,” interrupted several, +“tell her yer mind.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t mind what you say, Connemara Maggie,” +gasped the fur-coated one. “You’re not the worst +of them and——”</p> + +<p>“Good God,” shouted Aunt Betty, suddenly +putting her hands to her breasts.</p> + +<p>She backed to the wall, staring furtively at the +fur-coated woman. She was in the power of one of +her “visions.” Gypo stared at the woman in the fur +coat with his arms hanging loosely by his sides.</p> + +<p>“Listen,” continued the woman, “I don’t bear any +of you any malice. You can’t help it, any of you. +I don’t bear even you any malice, Aunt Betty. +I know very well that were it not for you I would +starve or . . . or be in a worse place. I have been +in your house a month now and you’ve been kind +to me. I know very well nobody can help anything. +I’m English, an army officer’s wife, so it’s +only natural that you girls would be prejudiced +against me——”</p> + +<p>“It’s nothing o’ the kind,” cried Connemara +Maggie; “it’s yer stuck-up ways that——”</p> + +<p>“Let her have her say, Maggie,” cried another.</p> + +<p>“I had no right to come in here,” cried the woman, +bursting into tears. “I should have gone to the +police and got them——”</p> + +<p>“The police!” yelled Gypo suddenly, starting as if +he had been awakened from his sleep. “None o’ +that talk. Keep away from the police. What d’ye +want the police for?”</p> + +<p>“I want to get back home,” sobbed the woman.</p> + +<p>“Where’s yer home?”</p> + +<p>“It’s . . . it’s near London.”</p> + +<p>“Well, what are ye doin’ over here then?”</p> + +<p>“I got this,” cried the woman, becoming hysterical +again. She put a trembling hand to her disfigured +cheek. “I got this a year ago. It’s driven me mad. +My husband took another woman. I sold everything +I had and came over to Dublin. I wanted to +go to work. Honest to God, I did. But I could get +nothing. Then a man brought me down here. +Good God, the shame of telling you all this in a place +like this . . . the . . .”</p> + +<p>“D’ye want to go home now?” cried Gypo angrily.</p> + +<p>She did not reply, but looked at him with large +eyes, as if in amazement.</p> + +<p>“What’ll bring ye home?” he continued. “How +much will it cost?”</p> + +<p>“A little over two pounds,” she replied in a low +voice.</p> + +<p>“Here,” he cried, taking out his money, “here’s +yer fare. One, two, three,” he paused and was going +to add a fourth, but he put it back. He handed +her the three notes. She shrank backwards, +looking at the money with large eyes.</p> + +<p>“Don’t be afraid,” he said in a strange, dreamy +voice. “Take the money an’ get outa here. That’s +enough to take ye home. Go back home. Yer not +wanted here. You an’ yer husband and the police. +Ye better keep away from the police, I’m tellin’ ye. +Go on. Beat it. Get outa here.”</p> + +<p>Staring him in the face, trembling, with her mouth +open, she seized the notes suddenly. Then uttering +an exclamation, she looked about her once and +rushed to the door.</p> + +<p>“Go off now,” cried Gypo after her. “Go off +now.”</p> + +<p>Everybody stared at the door through which she +disappeared, banging it after her. There was +silence. Then Aunt Betty spoke:</p> + +<p>“That’s all very well,” she sniggered; “but she +owes me two pound ten. Who’s goin’ to pay me +that? It’s all very well doin’ the——”</p> + +<p>“Shut up yer gob,” cried Gypo, “here’s two pound +for ye. That’s enough. Not another word outa +ye.” He threw two pound notes at her. Then he +threw out his arms. “Who’s comin’ to bed with +me,” he cried, “before the bank is broke?”</p> + +<p>“I am, me bould son o’ gosha,” cried Connemara +Maggie, rushing to him, with her yellow curly hair +streaming about her face and her blue eyes dancing.</p> + +<p>She enveloped his neck with her brawny arms.</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter" id="ch10"> + +<h2>Chapter X</h2> + +<p>At fifteen minutes to one, Bartly +Mulholland entered Biddy Burke’s kitchen and +sat by the fire. Nobody addressed him. +He saluted nobody. Biddy Burke was sitting on the +other side of the fire, on a stool, smoking a cigarette.</p> + +<p>Biddy Burke was a middle-aged woman with a +lowering expression in her black eyes, with +puffed-out, sallow cheeks and a swollen throat. She was +of the type of Irishwoman that is prone to sudden +passions, due to the habit of eating enormous meals +and then suffering from digestive disorders. They +are tender-hearted people, utterly lacking in an +æsthetic sense, violent, quarrelsome, savage, +generous, inconsistent. Biddy was dressed in a white +blouse and a blue skirt. She wore her greyish hair +drawn back to her poll tightly and parted in the +middle according to the peasant fashion.</p> + +<p>There were other people in the room, two young +women who sat on chairs and Jimmy “the fancy +man,” who lay on his right side, on the settle +opposite the fire.</p> + +<p>Mulholland looked around the room slowly. +Then he spoke.</p> + +<p>“Was Gypo Nolan here this evenin’, Mrs. Burke?” +he said.</p> + +<p>Biddy Burke slowly shook her head, carefully +examining Mulholland’s face as she did so. Then, as +if she suddenly remembered something important, +she leaned forward and bunched her lips together.</p> + +<p>“There hasn’t a man stood within me door this +blessed night,” she said in her rough, croaky voice. +“No, nor damn the bottle o’ stout did I sell. That’s +the God’s truth. Some people find Biddy Burke all +right when they’re in trouble an’ they got nothin’, +but when their tune changes they give her a wide +berth. I’ll soon be in the workhouse at the rate +things are goin’. I never saw anythin’ like it. The +country is goin’ to the wall. That’s all there’s to it. +I knew they’d make a mess of it with their revolutions +an’ their shootin’ the peelers. Not that I didn’t +do me bit to help the boys, God bless ’em, but ’tisn’t +the boys that done the fightin’ that get the jobs. +So it isn’t. It never is, if ye ask Biddy Burke. It’s +them publicans an’ bishops that were always top dog +in this country. ’Twas that way before an’ ’tis that +way now an’ ’twill be that way when Biddy Burke is +goin’ to meet her God on the day of judgment. They +were talkin’ about English tyrants, but sure nobody +ever saw the likes o’ these tyrants with their searches +an’ their raids, an’ every divil’s wart of a farmer’s +son that can pull on his breeches without his mother’s +help, runnin’ around an’ callin’ himself a gineral. +Aw! Gypo Nolan! He’s like the rest o’ them, +Bartly Mulholland. You take it from Biddy. Indeed +then, he hasn’t set a foot within me door. It’s +not that I haven’t heard of his goin’s on though. +Huh!”</p> + +<p>“What did ye hear about him?” asked +Mulholland, peering at her.</p> + +<p>“What did I hear about him?” cried Biddy Burke. +“What d’ye take me for, Bartly Mulholland? An +information bureau or what? Don’t be +botherin’ me.”</p> + +<p>Mulholland sighed. Then he took out his pipe +and lit it. He put his back against the wall and +began to smoke in apparent comfort. There was +silence. Through the open street door sounds of +footsteps and of voices came in through the rain now +and again. They were subdued sounds. It seemed +that everything was waiting for something monstrous +to happen.</p> + +<p>The two young women began in their gruff, +cracked voices to discuss the death of Francis Joseph +McPhillip. They talked casually, in whispers, +indifferently.</p> + +<p>Mulholland peered at them for a moment. Then +he sank back into his thoughts. His thoughts just +then were not at all comfortable. He had lost track +of Gypo. He had been wandering about trying to +find his quarry again, absolutely without success. +Gypo had been swallowed up. A more nervous man +than Mulholland would have not taken the matter so +philosophically, so coolly. Because if Gypo could +not be found again, Mulholland’s own life would be +in serious danger. But Mulholland was not +considering that aspect of the affair. Mulholland was +a sincere revolutionist. It was the danger to the +“cause” that worried him. The “cause” was his +whole existence. He did not understand any other +purpose in life except the achievement of an Irish +Workers’ Republic.</p> + +<p>Still . . . as he sat on the stool, stoically smoking +his pipe, other worries came into his mind. If +he could not find Gypo and anything serious happened +to himself as a result, what would become of +his wife and his six young children? He hardly +ever thought of them seriously, in this way, with a +view to the future. The future held a workers’ +republic, somewhere in the distance, when there would +be no slums, no hunger, no sick wives, no children +that got the mumps and the rickets and the German +measles and the whooping-cough with devilish +regularity. It never worried him to think that his wife +and his six children were for the moment living in a +miserable slum shanty, with his wife going rapidly +into a decline through hard work. That had to be. +The “cause” was above all these things. Why! +It was his wife who often urged him on to give all his +time to the “cause” whenever he became slightly +despondent or disheartened, timorous or apathetic.</p> + +<p>Ever struggling without reward!</p> + +<p>So he thought suddenly. But almost as soon as +the thought entered his brain another thought came +in mad, bloodshot pursuit. He pulled savagely at +his pipe and ejected the first thought in terror.</p> + +<p>Even “mentally” it was dangerous to think of +leaving the Organization without being expelled. +After all . . . terror was the foundation of his zeal.</p> + +<p>He forced himself into his habitual calm. His +face assumed the impenetrable aspect which he had +developed during five years of constant practice. +He turned to Biddy Burke again.</p> + +<p>“Where did ye say ye saw Gypo carrying on?” he +said casually.</p> + +<p>Biddy Burke looked at him ferociously, emitting +two columns of cigarette smoke through her fat +nostrils.</p> + +<p>“I didn’t say I saw him carryin’ on anywhere, +Bartly Mulholland,” she said angrily. “Be the +holy! These late years every one o’ ye is as smart +as a corporation lawyer. Now look here, Bartly. +I don’t want to have any truck atall with ye or yer +crowd. Ye know that too. I know ye, me fine +bucko, an’ I don’t think . . . eh . . . well o’ +course, Bartly . . . ye know what I mane. . . . It’s +not . . . uh . . . that I mane any harm . . . but +a poor woman like mesel’ . . . o’ course I’m ready +as I said before to do me duty for me fellow-men . . . +but it’s like this . . . what does a woman like +me gain be gettin’ mixed up in politics . . . that is +o’ course . . . look here,” she continued in a lower +voice, “I heard he was up in Aunt Betty’s, raisin’ +hell up there. He was one o’ your crowd, +wasn’t he?”</p> + +<p>Mulholland looked at her sombrely. She drew +back immediately.</p> + +<p>“Well, ye know me well, Bartly,” she muttered +apologetically and nervously. “I’m not sayin’ +anythin’ out o’ place. Am I, girls? Sure——”</p> + +<p>Just then an interruption came from outside. +Footsteps came rushing to the door. Then gasps +were heard. Then a panting sound became audible. +Then Katie Fox burst into the room, with her right +hand on her hip, her eyes glittering, looking about +her wildly. She rushed up to Biddy Burke. She +bent down from the hips towards her and began +to speak immediately, gasping after each word.</p> + +<p>“What d’ye think of it, Biddy?” she cried. “D’ye +know where I found him? D’ye know where I +found him? The big hulkin’ waster! An’ she +that’s not fit to walk the same street as me with her +big, ugly arms around his neck! She laughed in me +face. She laughed”—screaming—“in me face! I +wish to God I had hit her with the bottle I threw. +That ud spoil her mug. Though it was spoiled +enough the day she was born. Who was she, may I +ask? Who was she, Biddy Burke? I’m askin’ ye. +Ye don’t know an’ ye’d never guess in a thousand +years. Who would she be but me bould Connemara +Maggie! That imperent trapster that came up here +last year as a skivvy in a Gaelic Leaguer’s house, one +o’ them crazy fellahs that goes around in kilts. She +came up here an’ before she was three months in town +she was put in the family way be a soldier. Then +she comes down here, with her curly locks an’ her big +face like a heifer, savin’ the comparison. I pushed +up past Aunt Betty in the hall an’ she shoutin’ after +me. I bust into the room an’ there he was, sittin’ on +the floor, with his legs spread out, drinkin’ outa the +neck of a bottle, laughin’ like a fool, with her sittin’ +beside him. ‘Hello, Katie,’ says he, ‘d’ye want a +drink?’ ‘ ’Twill do ye good,’ says she with a giggle. +Me curse on her! I gave him a bit o’ me mind an’ . . . +Biddy, for God’s sake, gimme a drink o’ water. +Biddy, listen.”</p> + +<p>She threw herself suddenly at Biddy’s feet and +began to moan. But almost immediately she +jumped to her feet again and cried out:</p> + +<p>“An’ what’s more he gave three quid to that swank +of an Englishwoman. He gave her three quid and +he paid two quid more to Aunt Betty, money that +was owin’ to her for board, an’ he never gave me a +penny. Me that kept him for the last six months +when I hadn’t a bite mesel’. But I’ll tell everybody. +I’ll tell.”</p> + +<p>She looked around her wildly. She saw Mulholland. +She came up to him and bent down close to +his face. Her hat trailed off. Her hair fell down +over her eyes. She swayed. She pointed her right +forefinger menacingly at Mulholland’s forehead.</p> + +<p>“Listen to me, Bartly,” she said. “You remember +me when I was a good girl an’ when I was a member +o’ . . . ye know yersel’ . . . Well, so was he, +wasn’t he? Well, can ye tell me how did Frankie +McPhillip get plugged? Who got the twenty quid +that the Farmers’ Union gave out? Where did he +get the money? I’m not shoutin’ any names. No +names, no pack drills. But ye can guess for yersel’. +Where did he get his money from? Was it be robbin’ +a sailor at the back o’ Cassidy’s same as he +told me in the pub? Was it?” She suddenly threw +her hands over her head and clawed the air, +shrieking. They jumped up and caught her.</p> + +<p>Mulholland got to his feet quietly. He stole out +into the street, avoiding the people who came rushing +up to Biddy Burke’s door, attracted by the +screaming.</p> + +<p>Mulholland chuckled as he crossed the street. He +would have plenty of news for Gallagher. After +this there would be little difficulty in his getting +McPhillip’s job on the Head-quarters Staff. He stole +quietly into the hallway of Aunt Betty’s house. He +went noiselessly up the stairs without attracting the +attention of the revellers who were still “on the tear.” +He reached the landing. There were three doors, +with light streaming through each of them. He +listened at each door. The third was the right one. +He stood straight. He lifted the latch suddenly and +strode into the room. He called out as he did so +dramatically:</p> + +<p>“Come on, Gypo, it’s time for ye to be comin’ +with me.”</p> + +<p>For a moment he could see nobody, owing to his +excitement and the thick mist of smoke and +unescaped vapours which filled the room. He stood +within the door with his feet spread out wide on the +bare moth-eaten boards of the floor, with his right +hand in his pocket fingering his revolver. His heart +was beating wildly. Then he became aware of +Gypo’s presence. He felt that peculiar movement in +his head that the realization of Gypo’s presence +always caused, a little snapping movement of +unreasoning terror. Then he heard Gypo’s voice, heavy +and hoarse with drunkenness, but cordial and +friendly and distinctly patronizing.</p> + +<p>“Hello, Bartly. Sit down an’ have a drink. +Plenty time yet.”</p> + +<p>Then he turned his head towards the fireplace +and saw Gypo.</p> + +<p>Gypo was sitting on the floor to the right of the +fire, in a corner, in half-darkness, bare to the waist, +with his trousered legs stretched out at a wide angle, +sitting bolt upright, a bottle gripped in his right +hand between his knees, his feet bare.</p> + +<p>Connemara Maggie was standing by the fire drying +Gypo’s shirt, his jacket and his socks. The +big boots were resting on a fender before the fire, +steaming. She took no notice of Mulholland’s +entrance. With her golden hair hanging in disorder +over her face, with her blouse undone, with her +strong, heavy-boned face covered with perspiration, +with her great, soft eyes swollen and gentle like the +eyes of a heifer, she busied herself tending her man, +just as if she had never left the purity of her +Connemara hills and she were tending her peasant spouse +after a hard day’s work in the fields; instead of +tending a casual lover in the sordid environment of a +brothel. There was no hint of vice or of libidinous +pleasure in her face or in her movements. She +seemed to be, like Gypo himself, a child of the +earth, unconscious of the artificial sins that are the +handiwork of the city. In her two brawny arms +she held the steaming shirt to the blaze. She stood +silent and immovable.</p> + +<p>There was little else in the small, whitewashed, +low-ceilinged room. A bed with the clothes tousled +on it, a quilt that lay on the floor by the bed, a chair +on three legs and a weatherbeaten washstand, +containing a basin and a broken jug, comprised the +furniture.</p> + +<p>Mulholland looked around at all this before he +spoke. It was as well to get the correct details in +case identification were necessary. Gypo might +deny it. Then he spoke. He had recovered his +nerve.</p> + +<p>“No,” he said. “I don’t want a drink. It’s time +for ye to be comin’.”</p> + +<p>“Be off with ye, ye little divil,” yelled Gypo, +suddenly jumping to his feet, with a great scraping and +slapping noise. “Who are ye givin’ orders to?”</p> + +<p>He took a pace forward and reached out his right +hand, but Mulholland had drawn his revolver and +taken a pace to his rear. At the same time he called +out in a hissing whisper:</p> + +<p>“It’s not me orders. It’s the Commandant’s +orders, an’ ye better be careful about disobeyin’ +them.”</p> + +<p>Immediately Gypo drew himself up and let his +hands drop to his sides. His face, which had lit up +with anger, dropped into that peculiar wondering +expression, which he wore when he was musing on +the river bank before he went into the police-station. +He looked at Mulholland in amazement. His +forehead wrinkled. His nostrils expanded and +contracted. His thick lips moved backwards and +forwards, up and down. His face and his cropped skull +shone in the light of the paraffin lamp that rested on +the mantelpiece over the fire. The light also shone +across his body, over a bulging bare shoulder that +stood out white and massive and round below his +brown neck. The shoulder muscles were immense. +His body was white and hairless. His skin was +perfectly smooth. But everywhere the muscles strained +against the skin, in irregular, moving mounds. +They swelled out on his breasts, at his biceps, above +his hips, on his shoulders, just as if his head and neck +were a massive tree growth and the body muscles +were its roots, sunk into the body promiscuously and +afar, during centuries of life.</p> + +<p>He looked at Mulholland for some seconds. Then +he turned to Maggie.</p> + +<p>“Gimme me clothes, Maggie,” he said quietly.</p> + +<p>She handed them to him in silence. He dressed. +He put on his little tattered round hat. Then he put +his hand in his trousers pocket. He took out all the +money he had left. Two pounds four and sixpence. +He put the four and sixpence back into his pocket. +He handed the two pound notes to Maggie.</p> + +<p>“Keep one an’ give the other to Katie Fox,” he +said. “Ye’ll find her down at Biddy Burke’s.”</p> + +<p>She nodded and put the notes within her blouse.</p> + +<p>“So long, Maggie. See you again,” he said, going +to the door.</p> + +<p>“So long,” she called after him quietly.</p> + +<p>Gypo stalked out unsteadily, followed by +Mulholland.</p> + +<p>After a little while Connemara Maggie also left +the room. She went down to Biddy Burke’s.</p> + +<p>Biddy Burke’s was now thronged with people. +They were mostly women of the district and their +men. They had been talking at a terrific rate when +Maggie came in, but a strange silence fell upon them +when she appeared. She did not take any notice of +them. Going up to Katie Fox, who sat by the +hearth, on the seat occupied recently by Mulholland, +she took out the pound note and offered it to her.</p> + +<p>“Gypo Nolan gave me this for ye,” she said +quietly.</p> + +<p>Katie Fox looked at the note. Then she looked at +Maggie. Her under lip was quivering. Her eyes +opened and narrowed spasmodically. She was +moved by some complex emotion that she could not +master for the moment. She did not speak. Others +began to whisper. Some spoke out loud and +sharply:</p> + +<p>“Don’t take it, Katie. It’s blood money,” said +one.</p> + +<p>“Take it,” said Biddy Burke indignantly. “A +pound note doesn’t smell when it’s changed.”</p> + +<p>“Money is the common whore of all humanity,” +stuttered a tall, lean, drunken gentleman, who dozed +by the window with his head dangling.</p> + +<p>“I bet she got more than that to give ye,” said +another woman.</p> + +<p>“Yes, I bet she has,” cried Katie Fox, suddenly +settling the matter that was agitating her mind, +whatever it was. “I know her. Out with it, Connemara +Maggie,” she screamed, jumping to her feet and +squaring herself. “Out with it an’ don’t stand there +tryin’ to melt butter in me mouth with yer soft looks. +How much did he give ye for me? Don’t tell me +he only gave me one quid. Yer a liar before ye open +yer mouth to say so. Ye——”</p> + +<p>“Well of all the stories—” cried Connemara +Maggie in amazement.</p> + +<p>“Don’t put on airs, Maggie,” said a woman beside +her. “Don’t put on airs.”</p> + +<p>“Out with the rest o’ the money,” cried Katie +Fox.</p> + +<p>“Yer a pack o’ dogs,” cried Connemara Maggie +furiously. “Yer a pack o’——”</p> + +<p>She gasped and could say no more, astounded and +hurt bitterly by the slanderous attack from Katie +Fox, to whom she had never spoken in her life +before, except to say good morning. She fumbled at +her blouse and took out the other pound note that +Gypo had given her for herself. Then she took a +purse from a hiding-place on her left thigh. She +abstracted another note from that. She put back +the purse again. She threw the three notes at Katie +Fox.</p> + +<p>“There ye . . .” she hissed. “That’s all his +money. Take it. Maybe it’s dirty like yersel’. I +am well rid of ye. If he’s yer man, keep him.”</p> + +<p>She spat and strode out of the room, swinging her +arms and knocking out of her way all who came in +front of her.</p> + +<p>Some stared after her and swore. Others looked +at Katie Fox. Katie had the three pound notes in +her hands and her lips were moving. Then Biddy +Burke whispered something to her. Immediately +Katie sighed and clutched the three notes in her +hand, desperately, staring at the floor. Then she +held them out to Biddy Burke rapidly, without looking +in their direction. They lay crumpled in a ball +on her quivering thin palm.</p> + +<p>“Take them, Biddy,” she whispered. Then she +suddenly raised her voice to an hysterical shriek. +“Take them, but for God’s sake hurry and give me +something at once. Quick, quick. Give it to me, +Biddy. Give it to me.”</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter" id="ch11"> + +<h2>Chapter XI</h2> + +<p>In the Bogey Hole rats scurried about, +careless of the sentry who tramped up and +down, from end to end of the long stone passage, +with his rubber-heeled boots sounding loudly +in the cavernous silence. Drops of water gathered +slowly on the stone ceilings and then fell with soft, +empty splashes to the stone floors. Except for the +scurrying of the rats, the falling of the water and the +footfalls of the sentry, there was silence.</p> + +<p>The Bogey Hole, in which the Revolutionary +Organization were about to hold their inquiry into +the cause of the death of Francis Joseph McPhillip, +had once been the wine cellars of a nobleman. +Above it the ruins of the house still remained. But +everybody had long since forgotten the name of the +owner in the district. The hallway of the house was +choked with rubbish. The two top stories had fallen +in. Only a few rooms remained in a crumbling state. +Children played in them and parties of men played +cards for money there on Sundays. That’s all. +But the wine cellars underneath were often used by +the Revolutionary Organization as a meeting-place +and for other purposes.</p> + +<p>A wide stone stairway led down into the cellars +from the rear of the hallway. There was a wide +passage running straight through the cellars and +rooms opened off the passage on either side. In the +first room to the left of the stairway six men stood +about. They were the guard, seven men including +the man who was on sentry. They stood about the +room, or sat on the floor by the wall, with their +revolvers strapped outside their raincoats. A +lighted lantern was placed on the floor in the centre +of the room. The faces that were touched by the +lantern light were haggard and pale. Farther down +on the same side of the passage, a larger room was +prepared for the inquiry. A small table had been +placed in it. A horse blanket covered the table. +There were several small forms there and a little +“bedside table” to the right of the main table, with a +deck chair behind it. A big lamp, turned on full, +hung from the ceiling. It lit up the room so that +the dampness on the walls glittered. Two, tall, lean +men stood by the entrance to the room, one on either +side of it.</p> + +<p>Across the passage, still farther away from the +stairway, the Rat Mulligan was sitting on a form in +another room. His three guards sat opposite him +on a form. They had their revolvers in their hands.</p> + +<p>All along the passage the light of the big lamp +penetrated. It reached up three of the steps of the +stairway. Beyond that and about the roof of the +passage, there was pitch darkness.</p> + +<p>At the far end of the passage the outlines of a door +could be seen. It was a heavy oaken door, very old. +Formerly it was the door of an airtight room where +special wines were kept. These wines were let down +into the room from the garden. A trap-door opened +off the garden into the room. The barrels were let +down through this trap-door. Now, however, the +room was used by the Revolutionary Organization +for prisoners. A square hole had been made in +the upper part of the door to let in air, so that the +prisoners would not suffocate.</p> + +<p>It was three minutes past one. Three men, +dressed in long raincoats and soft hats, with masks +over their eyes, came down the stone stairway. +They were immediately challenged by the sentry. +One of them mumbled a word casually. The sentry +saluted. They walked quickly down the passage +and entered the inquiry room. The sentries at the +door stood to attention as they entered. They sat +down. One of them, he who sat in the middle, threw +an attaché case on the table and yawned. They all +lit cigarettes and began to talk in whispers, with +bored, sleepy voices, hardly opening their lips. They +were the three members of the Central Executive +Committee who had been appointed as judges for +the inquiry.</p> + +<p>At twenty minutes past one Commandant Dan +Gallagher came down the stairs with Mary McPhillip. +She wore a dark woolen overcoat buttoned to +the throat and belted at the waist. Gallagher was +dressed as before. She looked around her in a +frightened manner. Gallagher had to urge her along +with his right hand that held her arm. When the +sentry uttered his challenge she stopped dead, +gasped, and put her hands to her lips. Gallagher +began to whisper to reassure her. Trembling and +clutching at his arm, she was led by him into the +inquiry room. He put her sitting on a form and +went over to talk to the members of the Executive +Committee, who had not got to their feet or taken +any notice whatsoever.</p> + +<p>At twenty-five minutes past one, a hoarse voice +was heard at the top of the stairs, yelling the words +of a ribald song, while another voice, a hushed one, +angrily expostulated. Then there was a savage +grunt, an oath, the sound of a heavy body crashing +into something that broke with a brittle crack +and then Gypo came down the stairs. He came +down, slipping on his back, with his arms and legs +stretched out, groping at the air. He landed at the +bottom with a thud. He sat up stiffly. Then he +broke out into an amazing peal of laughter.</p> + +<p>Men rushed at him from all directions with their +revolvers drawn, as quickly as if they had been waiting +a long time anxiously for his appearance in that +strange manner. But when they saw him sitting +there laughing, with his little tattered round hat +fallen forward over his forehead, they halted and put +their revolvers back into their holsters.</p> + +<p>“Hello, boys,” cried Gypo. “Here I am. What +are ye lookin’ at? I’ll fight any six men that ever +walked this earth. Who’s first?”</p> + +<p>He jerked himself to his feet with one sudden +forward movement, by drawing up one heel under +him. He stood up, towering suddenly over those +about him. They drew back. Mulholland, who at +that moment was limping down the stairs with his +hand to his right eye, sidestepped quickly with fright +as Gypo stood up. He fell headlong past Gypo’s +right shoulder into the arms of two men who reached +out to receive him. Then Gallagher pushed his way +to the front.</p> + +<p>“What’s the matter here?” he cried sharply. “To +your posts, men, quickly. Well, Gypo? What’s +troubling you now?”</p> + +<p>Gypo clicked his heels with a loud noise and +saluted. He staggered slightly as he saluted. His +face, wild with drunkenness, moved spasmodically, +but he remained silent. He had not put on his +muffler on leaving the brothel. His brown neck was +bare, the muscles standing out like ridges on a +mountainside. Then he jerked his hat back into +its correct position and shuffled his feet. He broke +into a low, thick laugh. He spoke.</p> + +<p>“You an’ me, Commandant,” he said with a foolish +grin. “What ho! We’ll put ’em all on the run. +What d’ye say?”</p> + +<p>Gallagher had been looking steadily at Gypo all +the time without a single movement in his face. He +turned away in silence and addressed Mulholland.</p> + +<p>“What’s the matter with your eye, Bartly?” he +said.</p> + +<p>“Oh! he just came in me way,” interrupted Gypo +taking a pace forward and patting Gallagher +familiarly on the shoulder. “He came in me way—uh—an’ +I hit him with the back o’ me hand. That’s all, +upon me soul. He’ll be all right again with a bit o’ +beefsteak. Don’t worry yersel’ about him, +Commandant.”</p> + +<p>Gallagher drew away with an irritated gesture and +walked back to the inquiry room. Mulholland +looked at Gypo with savage hatred in his eyes. +Gypo looked around him arrogantly with his chest +swelled out.</p> + +<p>“Nolan,” called out Gallagher from the doorway +of the inquiry room, “get into that room there across +the passage. Third on your right. That’s it. +Wait there until you are wanted. See?”</p> + +<p>“All right, Commandant. I see it. I—uh—damn +that wall. Stand outa me way, will ye?”</p> + +<p>Gypo stalked down the passage, slightly unsteady +on his feet and breathing heavily. He brought up +suddenly against the wall again and laughed in his +throat with his mouth shut. Then he headed +straight for the room where the Rat Mulligan was +sitting with his guard. When he had entered that +room Gallagher beckoned to Mulholland. Mulholland +came up. They both disappeared into the +inquiry room. The sentries came to the doorway. +They stood at ease across the doorway, facing the +passage, with their drawn revolvers in their hands. +“The preliminary investigation” had begun:</p> + +<p>Gypo subsided on to a chair beside the Rat +Mulligan. He sat for several moments with a hand on +each knee, staring intently at the ground in front +of him, breathing through his nose and twitching +his eyebrows that were like snouts. Then he raised +his head and looked about him. He examined each +of the armed men and nodded to each as he +recognized him. They all nodded in return, but in a +sour manner. Then he looked towards the huddled +form of the Rat Mulligan and he screwed up his +face in perplexity. He scratched his skull. He +took off his hat and beat it, in a confused way, +against his trousers leg, as if he were dusting it. +Then he put it on his head again. He reached out +his right hand as if to touch Mulligan’s shoulder, +but when the hand was within an inch of Mulligan’s +shoulder, he jerked it back suddenly. Then he +jumped to his feet with an oath and stood facing +Mulligan with his chest heaving.</p> + +<p>“Mulligan,” he whispered thickly, but with great +force. “Hey, Rat! What ye doin’ here? Hey, +Mulligan!”</p> + +<p>Mulligan never moved for two seconds. He sat +on his chair, with his flat feet wide apart and his +knees together, with his upturned palms resting on +his knees and his head resting on his palms. His +little emaciated body was covered with a heavy +black overcoat, that hung about him unbuttoned, +with its ends trailing on the floor. His hat lay on +the ground beside him where it had fallen unheeded +from his skull. His shaggy black hair was tousled +and damp. Then he slowly raised his head to look +at Gypo. His face was yellow and hollow cheeked, +with great sorrowful dark eyes and a large mouth +filled with two perfect rows of yellow teeth. His +mouth was wide open. His eyes were staring and +bloodshot. His whole body, ravaged by consumption, +was terrible to behold. Gypo gasped, looking +at it. A look of terror came into his little eyes.</p> + +<p>“Rat,” he whispered, “what brings ye here? Man +alive, why aren’t ye in yer bed? This is no hour for +a sick man to be out.”</p> + +<p>The Rat stared at Gypo aimlessly as if he had not +heard him and could not see him. Then, slowly, his +head subsided once more on to his palms. He +shivered and sat still.</p> + +<p>Gypo came up to him softly. He stooped down +and touched him on the shoulder, as if to console +him or to sympathize with him. But as soon as his +hand touched Mulligan he drew back with an oath. +Through his drunken brain the whole memory of +the evening’s proceedings rushed back under the +influence of that touch. He remembered distinctly +himself in the public-house, denouncing the Rat +Mulligan to Gallagher, as the man who had informed +against McPhillip.</p> + +<p>He looked about him suspiciously at the armed +men. Their eyes were cast about the room +indiscriminately, with the habitual bored look of men +under discipline. They were taking absolutely no +interest in Gypo or in the Rat Mulligan. Gypo +sat down again. He took his head between his +hands. He crushed his skull with all his might in a +great effort to regain control of his faculties.</p> + +<p>For three minutes he sat that way, with all his +strength concentrated in the effort to conquer his +drunkenness. He was barely conscious of the effort +he was making. It was instinct that warned him of +the dangers that lay ahead of him, instinct aroused +by the contact with Mulligan’s body. His drunkenness +resisted fiercely. Continual waves of reckless +delirium surged through his body, rising up from +his chest to his head, with the spontaneous action +of sea waves swelling up the side of an abrupt +precipice. His head hummed and swayed. His eyes +blinked. His tongue wagged loose and wanted to +talk and sing and laugh. An unaccountable joy +permeated him, a joy that did not originate in his +actual self but in some strange being that had come +to lodge in him temporarily. He could contemplate +that new strange being with savage hatred as he +pressed his hands against his skull. That being was +an enemy of his. He must conquer him.</p> + +<p>At last he felt his drunkenness weakening, gradually, +like the lessening of a pain at night. It did not +disappear but its effects changed. Instead of feeling +reckless and hilarious, he began to feel cunning, +careful, gloomy, defiant, recklessly strong. His +head cooled and steadied. It seemed to have become +suddenly walled with steel, so that he almost +experienced a physical pain from the pressure of his +skull against the skin on his forehead. But he took +away his hands from his forehead and he found that +the pain vanished. His teeth set. His face +assumed a look of stony apathy, the lips hanging +flabbily, the cheeks loose, the eyes vacant. All the +muscles of his body went loose, with the looseness +of the athlete, who is standing at ease, but ready to +plunge off somewhere like an arrow.</p> + +<p>In response to this change, as it were in his personality, +he got to his feet in a dignified, calculated, +imperious manner. He cleared his throat. He held +out his right hand. He spoke.</p> + +<p>“Listen, men,” he said. “I had a drop taken +when I came in here. I didn’t know what I was +doin’. I just remembered now who I was talkin’ +to an’ it nearly knocked me dead. Look at him.” +He pointed a thick, short, hairy forefinger at +Mulligan. “He wouldn’t speak to me. He’s afraid to +look at me. I know why. It’s him that informed +on Frankie McPhillip an’ he knows that I saw +him.”</p> + +<p>“It’s a lie,” screamed Mulligan, suddenly starting +up and spreading out his hands and feet, downwards +and outwards, as if he were resting exhausted after +a race. His face was distorted with fear, amazement +and rage. “It’s a lie, boys. It’s a lie I tell yez. +Before the Blessed Mother of the Infant Jesus I +swear on me knees that I never left the house to-day +except to go to the chapel to say me prayers.”</p> + +<p>“Ha! Me fine boyo!” cried Gypo excitedly. +“Will ye listen to his oaths? It’s easy work for an +informer swearin’ oaths.”</p> + +<p>“Never—” began Mulligan again. But he was +cut short by two of the armed men seizing him by the +arms, forcing him back to his seat and putting a +handkerchief over his mouth.</p> + +<p>At the same time Gallagher rushed out of the +inquiry room and across the passage with his pistol +in his hand. His sallow, lean face was aflame with +anger. His eyes sparkled like points of fire. He +looked at Gypo for a fleeting moment. It was no +longer the cold, contemptuous, patronizing look with +which he had regarded him in the public-house. +It was a look of fierce, relentless hatred. “The +preliminary investigation” had convinced him of +something.</p> + +<p>Gypo, on the other hand, looked at Gallagher in +a friendly, intimate, confident manner.</p> + +<p>“Here he is,” he said, pointing at the convulsing +body of Mulligan. “He knows it’s all up with him +already. He went into fits when I taxed him with +it. So he did.”</p> + +<p>Then he opened his mouth and gave voice to a +hoarse laugh.</p> + +<p>Gallagher smiled faintly into Gypo’s eyes. There +was something diabolic in the smile. It was so +inhuman.</p> + +<p>“Come on, you two witnesses,” he said icily. +“You, Nolan, and you, Mulligan. You are wanted +at the inquiry now. Lead them in, two of you.”</p> + +<p>Gypo walked across the passage jauntily, swinging +his shoulders, with his chest thrown out with his +head in the air. Mulligan had to be carried across. +He sobbed all the way fitfully. The two sentries +with drawn revolvers again took up their position +in the doorway. Now, however, they had their +backs to the passage. They faced the two witnesses. +The two witnesses were seated on a small form in +front of the larger table. They sat side by side. +The two armed men who had conducted them into +the room stood close behind them. The three +judges sat in front of Gypo and of Mulligan at the +large table. Gallagher sat at the little table to the +right, with Mulholland standing a little to his rear, +peering over his shoulder at what he was reading. +To the right of the judges Mary McPhillip sat on a +form alone.</p> + +<p>There was a deadly silence for several moments. +Drops of water, one after another, in irregular +succession, could be heard falling from the stone roof +to the stone floor, near the walls. Then the centre +judge spoke in a bored, drawling voice.</p> + +<p>“Take Peter Mulligan’s statement, comrade +Gallagher,” he said.</p> + +<p>As soon as Mulligan heard his name mentioned he +tried to jump to his feet, but the man standing +behind him held him down. At the same time Gypo +put his hand on Mulligan’s thigh and made a +threatening gesture with his head.</p> + +<p>“Keep quiet, will ye? Ye rat!” he growled.</p> + +<p>“Peter Mulligan,” said Gallagher, “give an +account of your whereabouts from noon to-day until +midnight when you were brought in here.”</p> + +<p>Mulligan looked at Gallagher for some time before +replying. He was obviously trying to speak. +His lips moved. But terror held the tip of his +tongue against his upper teeth. He could only jabber +inaudibly. Then at last the tongue sprang loose +and the words rushed out in a flood, incoherent, +almost inarticulate, like the barking of a dog. Then +he gasped. He paused. When he continued, his +speech was regular and almost calm. He had +become possessed of that meaningless courage that +comes to nervous and timorous people, when they +find themselves in a position where it is useless to be +careful, or to exercise any control over themselves.</p> + +<p>“What’s the meaning of this treatment of a +working-man?” he cried. “By you men that are +supposed to be out for the freedom of the working +class. Can ye find no better man to arrest an’ carry +off in the middle o’ the night than me, that’s dyin’ +on me feet o’ consumption? An’ havin’, still an’ +all, to work me hands off at me trade, tailorin’ an’ +stitchin’ in a basement, that’s more like the cave of +a wild animal than a room. Me that’s——”</p> + +<p>“Mulligan,” interrupted Gallagher impassively +but sharply, “I asked you for a statement of your +whereabouts, between noon to-day and midnight +to-night. You better be quick about your statement. +We have no time to waste.”</p> + +<p>Suddenly Mulligan’s short-lived arrogance vanished. +He looked around him on all sides pathetically. +He saw only stern, unsympathetic faces. +He sighed and dug his hands deep into his overcoat +pockets. Then he drew the pockets closely about +his body and crouched low on his seat. He began +to speak in a meek, timorous voice.</p> + +<p>“Lemme see,” he said, looking at the ground. “At +noon to-day, or let us say dinner time, if it’s the same +to you, I was lyin’ in me bed. I had a bad pain in +me right side from bronchitis all the mornin’ an’ I +had to stay in bed with it. At one o’clock about, the +old woman gev me a cup o’ tay an’ an egg. I remember +I couldn’t ate the egg. Well, that’s no matter. +I had to get up then, on account of a suit that +has to be made for Mick Foley the carter. It’s got +to be finished be Friday. His daughter is gettin’ +married next Monday to——”</p> + +<p>“Don’t mind Foley’s daughter,” snapped Gallagher. +“What had she got to do with your +movements? Tell us about yourself.”</p> + +<p>Mulligan began to cough furiously. His body +shook and he almost fell off the form. Then the fit +subsided. He sat shivering and unable to speak.</p> + +<p>“Come on, Rat,” growled Gypo, nudging him with +his elbow in the ribs. “Ye might as well come out +with it now as another time. Go ahead an’ tell ’em +all about it.”</p> + +<p>Mulligan looked at Gypo. His lips trembled. +His great dark eyes filled with tears. The terrific, +massive countenance of Gypo, cunning with drunkenness, +did not inspire him at that moment with fear. +For some peculiar reason, his poor, shattered soul +had gathered to itself just then a great courage. His +withered face shone with a spiritual power. He +spoke softly, tenderly, with pity.</p> + +<p>“It’s not for me to condemn ye,” he said; “maybe +yer not responsible.”</p> + +<p>“Blast ye,” yelled Gypo, jumping to his feet. +“What does he mean, Commandant Gallagher, about +me not bein’ res-re-prosible? What does he mean +by it? I want to know what he’s drivin’ at.”</p> + +<p>“Sit down, Nolan,” cried Gallagher. “Sit down +immediately and keep quiet. Sit down, I say.”</p> + +<p>Gypo sat down with a clutter. He stared at +Gallagher, with the strange, bewildered look of a dog +that has been reprimanded by his master and is +wondering why he has been reprimanded. For the +first time he realized that there was a cold, dangerous +ring in Gallagher’s voice. He sat immovable for +two moments, without drawing breath, meditating on +this hostile ring which he had heard in Gallagher’s +voice.</p> + +<p>Unconsciously he took off his little, tattered, +round, slouch hat. He pushed it, without looking +at it, into his right-hand trousers pocket.</p> + +<p>Mulligan began again to talk.</p> + +<p>“Lemme see,” he said, “where was I? Oh, yes. +I worked on till about half-past three or maybe a +quarter to four, when Charlie Corrigan came in an’ +said that his brother Dave had just come outa jail, +after bein’ on hunger strike for eighteen days. Ye +remember he was thrown in on account of the Slum +Rents Agitation. ‘He’s upstairs,’ says Charlie. +Well, I went up an’ we talked over a cup o’ tay until +about six o’clock. It was just six when I left, +because I heard the angelus beginnin’ to strike an’ I +on me way down the stairs, because I stopped to +cross mesel’. Then I ran down home an’ put on +me overcoat and went out to the chapel. I’m makin’ +the Stations o’ the Cross for . . .” He stopped and +flushed. . . . “Well, it’s no matter to no man why +I’m makin’ em.”</p> + +<p>“All right, then,” snapped Gallagher. “We don’t +want to know why you are making them. We +merely want facts, not superstitions. You went into +the chapel at six o’clock, or a few minutes +afterwards to be precise. How far is the chapel from +your house?”</p> + +<p>“Maybe it’s a hundred yards, maybe it’s more. +If ye go around the corner be Kane’s it’s less, but +be goin’ the other road around——”</p> + +<p>“Oh, damn the other road. Pardon me, Miss +McPhillip. Let us say it’s one hundred yards. You +arrived at the chapel then at about three minutes +past six. That correct?”</p> + +<p>“Uh . . . that ud be right . . . about that.”</p> + +<p>“Well? How long did you stay there?”</p> + +<p>“I stayed there until about half-past six. An’ +then I stayed talkin’ outside the door to Fr. Conroy +for maybe ten minutes. He wanted to know——”</p> + +<p>“Did you talk to anybody other than the priest +you mention?”</p> + +<p>“I’m comin’ to that. After I left Fr. Conroy I +met Barney Kerrigan.”</p> + +<p>“Where? Near the chapel?”</p> + +<p>“Yes. It must have been within fifty yards of it, +as yer goin’ be measurements, although we +never——”</p> + +<p>“Just a moment. Were you ever a member of the +Revolutionary Organization?”</p> + +<p>“What makes ye ask that? Does any man know +better than yersel’ whether I was or not?”</p> + +<p>“<strong>Were you a member?</strong>”</p> + +<p>“Sure I was.”</p> + +<p>“That’s better. Why did you leave it?”</p> + +<p>“I left it, Commandant Gallagher, for reasons that +are known to yersel’ as well as they are to me.” +His voice became passionate and shrill. “I left it +because the only one I cared for in this world, +outside me old woman, that’s me sister, came to her +doom through it. But it’s not for me to judge. It’s +not for me . . .”</p> + +<p>“Very well,” interrupted Gallagher. “You left +the Organization owing to a personal grievance. +Was that grievance against any particular member +of the Organization?”</p> + +<p>“I bear no fellow-man a grudge,” cried Mulligan +solemnly.</p> + +<p>“You had no grievance against Francis Joseph +McPhillip?”</p> + +<p>“Lord have mercy on his soul,” cried Mulligan, +crossing himself with his eyes on the ceiling. “I +hope his sorrows are over him.” He turned to Miss +McPhillip. “I swear on me immortal soul, Miss +McPhillip, that I bore no grudge agin yer brother.”</p> + +<p>“All right,” said Gallagher. “Well. Tell us +what you did after leaving Barney Kerrigan.”</p> + +<p>“I went back to the house after that. I did another +bit o’ work until about eight o’clock. I didn’t +do much because fellahs kept comin’ in an’ out an’ +me eyes are not as good as they used to be an’ the +gas now is a disgrace to the city. But anyhow, I +finished the waistcoat. Then I went upstairs to +Jim Daly’s room on the third floor. Poor man, he’s +sick this three years with bad kidneys. Only for a +pension he has outa the British Navy, there’s no +knowin’ what ud happen to him, an’ he havin’ no one +to look after him but himself, an’ he that delicate. +We had a smoke an’ a talk until about ten o’clock. +Then I came down again. The old woman had just +come in, so we had another cup o’ tay an’ a herring. +Then I sat be the fire readin’ a newspaper until +about half-past eleven. Then I began to pouch +about makin’ ready to go to bed, when three men +under Tommy Connor came in an’ put a mask over me +face an’ bundled me into a car, without by yer leave, +as if I was a criminal. That’s all.”</p> + +<p>There was a slight pause. Everybody sighed for +some reason.</p> + +<p>“Very good, Mulligan,” said Gallagher. “That +will do.”</p> + +<p>He got up and went over to the judges’ table. +The four of them talked for about two minutes. +The centre judge read from a paper in a mumbling +voice. Another judge took notes, scratching loudly +with his pen. There was a pause. Then another +discussion in whispers began. Then Gallagher came +back to his seat.</p> + +<p>“Nolan,” he said, quite suddenly, “repeat the +statement concerning Peter Mulligan that you made +to me in Ryan’s public-house in Titt Street at +ten-forty-five this night.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, Commandant,” said Gypo immediately.</p> + +<p>He cleared his throat aggressively and rattled off +the story about his having seen Mulligan track +Francis Joseph McPhillip out of the Dunboy Lodging +House. He spoke in a clear, loud and distinct +voice, making arrogant gestures and looking straight +into Gallagher’s eyes as he spoke.</p> + +<p>Mulligan kept trembling while Gypo spoke. He +seemed all the time trying to interrupt, but although +his lips twitched and his hands trembled he neither +moved nor spoke.</p> + +<p>Gypo finished speaking. His loud, strong voice +died out, leaving a sudden silence behind it. There +was another slight pause.</p> + +<p>“What time exactly did you see Mulligan leave the +lodging-house?” said Gallagher.</p> + +<p>“Just half-past six,” replied Gypo immediately. +“I know because I looked at the clock in the +hall.”</p> + +<p>“Very well,” said Gallagher. “That will do you, +Nolan. Miss McPhillip, what time did your brother +arrive at your father’s house?”</p> + +<p>“He arrived at ten minutes to seven,” said Mary, +after a little pause, during which she blushed slightly, +glanced at Gallagher and then looked at the ground. +“It might be a little earlier than that, but not more +than a minute or so. I had just come in from +business.”</p> + +<p>“Did he say anything about being followed when +he came?”</p> + +<p>“No. On the contrary, he said that he was certain +that he was not noticed since he came into town at +half-past five. Mother was very worried about his +being in town, and she wanted to get him away +immediately, but he was so confident about being safe +that she thought it was all right his staying for the +night. He said he met Nolan at the lodging-house. +That was the only person he spoke to, he said. He +came by back streets after leaving the lodging-house. +He never stopped anywhere and he spoke to nobody. +He crossed the river at the Metal Bridge. It was +pitch-black at that time on account of the rain and +the fog. Anybody that knew Frankie’s way of going +along, listening to every sound, with ears as sharp +as a fox, could hardly believe that he was followed +without his knowing it. He came in suddenly by +the back entrance through the yard. We thought it +was his ghost,” she said with a little shiver of +remembrance. She stopped and put her handkerchief to +her face.</p> + +<p>“Thank you, Miss McPhillip,” said Gallagher. +“Barney Kerrigan out there?”</p> + +<p>“Kerrigan there?”</p> + +<p>“Kerrigan?”</p> + +<p>“Yes. I’m coming,” came a voice from along the +passage somewhere.</p> + +<p>A tall man, wearing a black slouch hat and a new, +though shabby, grey overcoat with a velvet collar, +came into the room. He had a revolver strapped +over his overcoat at the waist. He saluted and stood +to attention.</p> + +<p>“Did you meet Peter Mulligan at six-thirty this +evening?” said Gallagher.</p> + +<p>“Yes, Commandant,” replied Kerrigan. “I saw +him just about that time comin’ down the street. +He stopped me to know did I know anythin’ for the +Grand National.”</p> + +<p>“Very well. You are quite sure about the time?”</p> + +<p>“Well, I couldn’t give ye the exact second, but it +couldn’t be more than a minute one way or the other. +I knocked off work at six an’ it takes me always just +about twenty minutes to walk from the quays as far +as Farelly’s. Well, I had a pint in Farelly’s an’ I +stopped for a few minutes to talk to the boys, an’ then +when I came out I met Peter Mulligan. Just about +half-past six I’d say it was.”</p> + +<p>“Very well,” said Gallagher, “return to your post. +Peter Mulligan, you can go now. You will be taken +home in the car that brought you here and we’ll see +you right for any inconvenience that was caused to +you.” He walked over to the judges and whispered +something hurriedly. They all nodded and put their +hands in their pockets. “One moment, Mulligan,” +he called. They all gave him money. He added +some from his own pocket. He came over to Mulligan +and handed him a fistful of silver. “For the +present this might help you. I’ll see what can be +done for you later on. I’ll bring your case up before +the Relief Committee. Good-night, Comrade.”</p> + +<p>Mulligan took the money with bowed head. He +got up and moved to the door hurriedly without +saying a word, with his hat crushed in his two hands +and his overcoat flapping behind him. He disappeared +out the door, head first, stooping, hauling his +two flat feet after him as if he were dragging them +against their will. Then, with a hard, biting cough +he disappeared.</p> + +<p>The sentries stood again across the door. Gallagher +walked slowly back to his table. He sat down. +There was a deadly silence.</p> + +<p>The silence lasted only about twelve seconds. +During this pause Gallagher took out a notebook and +turned over the pages, while Mulholland bent over +his shoulder whispering something, and the three +judges murmured with their heads close together. +But to Gypo these twelve seconds were as long as +twelve years to a man stricken with a painful and +incurable disease. A succession of terrors flitted +through his mind. They were not ideas or thoughts, +but almost tangible terrors that seemed to materialize +in his brain as the result of the reasoning of some +foreign being. His cunning and his assurance were +gripped suddenly by that amazing foreigner and +hurled out of him, clean out of him into oblivion, +like two bullets fired through the air.</p> + +<p>Ha! They were hurled out of him by the amazing +fact of Mulligan’s disappearance, free, with money +in his pocket given to him by Gallagher. They had +given him money. They had called him comrade. +They had promised to bring his case up before the +Relief Committee. They sent him away free. He +had gone. . . . Jesus, Mary and Joseph! What was +the meaning of it?</p> + +<p>Then suddenly, as he sat there, bolt upright on his +seat, massive, those unspeakable terrors crowded into +his mind. They came ready-made, fully matured, +nauseating like bilious attacks, sharp and biting like +bayonet wounds, heavy and ponderous like palpitations +of the heart. They came, one, two, three, four . . . +scores of them, lining up in his brain, shoulder +to shoulder, in a mass, standing there solidly and +then immediately disappearing like ghosts without a +sound and giving place to others. There was a mass +of them but each one was distinct. Each had its +own peculiar silent screech. Each had its own peculiar +demoniac grin. Each had its own peculiar . . . +damn them all! The curse of them was that he did +not know what they were. It seemed that his +personality was bound in chains and he was unable to +grapple with the cursed things. He must sit still, +bolt upright on his wooden form, and permit them to +stand there unchallenged in his brain. He was +helpless. A cold sweat came out through every pore of +his body.</p> + +<p>Four seconds passed. Then his mind began to +grope about among the terrors, timorously, like a +snail that has been touched and has gone into his +shell feigning death and has come out again touching +blades of grass suspiciously and wriggling its horns. +Gypo opened his nostrils and his mouth. He drew +in a deep breath through both organs simultaneously. +The cold sweat suddenly became warm. His blood +flooded his head with a surging movement. He became +ferocious. At first his eyes narrowed and his +eyebrows that were like snouts bent down. Then his +eyes opened wide and his eyebrows lifted, like guns +that are elevated in order to train them on a target. +His lower lip dropped. His mind began to work +methodically. The terrors vanished out of it and +gave place to an iron determination to fight to the +bitter end.</p> + +<p>With his blood maddened by alcohol, he became +conscious of the vast strength in his body. He almost +experienced a feeling of happiness at this opportunity +for using it. It was that savage joy that is +always present in the Irish soul in time of danger, +the great fighting spirit of our race, born of the mists +and the mountains and the gurgling torrents and the +endless clamour of the sea.</p> + +<p>He looked around him measuring those against +whom he had to fight. To his left he saw Mary +McPhillip sitting. She had her hands in her lap. +She was leaning forward slightly, with a nervous +expectant look in her eyes, looking at Gallagher. +She cast a terrified glance, occasionally, towards +Gypo, but her eyes always came back to Gallagher’s +face as if they were fascinated by it. It was obvious +that she was terrified and that her mind was trying +to keep itself fixed on the object of the prayers which +her moving lips were uttering. Gypo saw the terror +in her quivering face and knew that he had nothing +to fear from her. Then he looked at the three +judges. He knew those masked men. They were +merely puppets, politicians, figure-heads who would +do Gallagher’s bidding, afraid to contradict him. +Ha! Gallagher was the man he had to fight. +Gallagher and that rat Mulholland. He saw them over +by the little table with their heads together. He +fixed his eyes on them.</p> + +<p>Feverishly he set himself to form a plan, not that +he hoped anything at this hour from the formation of +a plan, but merely because making a plan was an end +in itself to his peculiar reason. But he could not +even think of a plan. All his energies were +concentrated on maintaining his anger at fever heat. He +struggled feebly with threads of ideas and then +dropped them hopelessly. He doubled up his fists +and held them, knuckles downwards, one on each +hip. The two armed men who stood behind him, +saw his back muscles rise and strain against his +dungaree jacket.</p> + +<p>Then the silence broke. Gallagher got up with his +open notebook in his hand. He walked over to the +judges’ table. He placed the notebook in front of +the judges, pointing out something with his finger. +The centre judge nodded. Gallagher walked back +again to his table and sat down. Gypo followed +every movement with frenzied excitement. He +seemed to be on the point of jumping to his feet and +rushing at Gallagher. The two sentries in the +doorway and the two armed men standing behind Gypo’s +back slipped their fingers over their revolver +triggers. They leaned forward slightly. There was a +tense moment. Then Gallagher looked at Gypo and +began to speak sharply, in a low, restrained voice.</p> + +<p>“Now Gypo,” he began, “tell us how you spent +your time from six o’clock this evening until you +came in here at half-past one. Hurry up. Don’t +waste any time. We are in a hurry.”</p> + +<p>Gypo’s eyes almost shut. Then his face seemed +to swell. His mouth contorted.</p> + +<p>“What’s it got to do with you where I ben?” he +thundered in a queer, hollow voice. It seemed his +mouth had gone dry.</p> + +<p>“You never know,” said Gallagher carelessly. “It +might be interesting for us to know. Don’t you feel +like telling us how you’ve been amusing yourself from +the time you met Francis Joseph McPhillip at six +o’clock in the Dunboy Lodging House until you +came in here?”</p> + +<p>“An’ supposin’ I don’t tell ye, what are ye goin’ to +do? Wha’?”</p> + +<p>“Well, I’m not going to tell you that. But we can +do a lot. You know that yourself, don’t you? You +have your choice in the matter. You either tell me +or I’ll go to the trouble of telling you and the court +myself.” He paused for an instant and then added: +“with the help of Bartly Mulholland here.”</p> + +<p>Then he stared at Gypo dispassionately, with the +cold and indifferent look of a man examining a +statue. Gypo’s chest heaved in and out. He had +not been prepared for this point-blank attack from +Gallagher. He had expected that Gallagher would +adopt his usual tactics of friendliness and cajolery, +trusting to madden his prey into letting some choice +important word slip unawares from his lips. Gypo +felt himself actually cheated out of his rights by this +insultingly crude and insolent attack. Gallagher was +not even doing him the honour of playing with him. +Then he must know everything already. Did he?</p> + +<p>The last trace of his self-control left Gypo. He +abandoned himself to a frenzy of passion. A +delirious wave of ferocity mastered him. He clenched +his fists so that the bones cracked. His right leg +went so rigid that the boot rushed along the stone +floor with a harsh scraping sound, until it brought +up with a bang against the leg of the form. There +it stayed. His knee was pointed and shivering. He +opened his mouth and yelled, almost incoherently, a +torrent of blasphemous and obscene oaths at Gallagher. +He yelled them in an endless sentence, without +a verb or pronoun or conjunction. He kept yelling +until he had to stop for breath.</p> + +<p>When Gypo stopped, Mary McPhillip’s sobs became +audible. She was trembling violently and sobbing. +Gallagher got up, walked past Gypo without +taking the slightest notice of him and took Mary by +the arm. He led her up to the judge’s table.</p> + +<p>“I have no further need of this witness,” he said, +“so I suppose I may take her into another room.”</p> + +<p>The judges nodded. He led Mary out of the room. +Gypo’s eyes followed him everywhere. He was staring +wildly and he seemed to have lost all power of +directing his bodily activities. He was shivering +spasmodically in his legs. Gallagher came back into +the room and sat down at his table.</p> + +<p>Still Gypo’s eyes were concentrated on Gallagher’s +face. His outburst had left him completely empty, +like a shaken sack. There was a pain at the pit of +the stomach. Mob orators know that pain, when +they have spoken for over an hour under a perfect +hail of frenzied interruptions. His eyes were dazed. +Some machinal force kept his eyes concentrated on +Gallagher’s face. He responded to every movement +of Gallagher’s face in a half-conscious way. Every +time Gallagher moved a limb he felt a sharp stab in +the pit of the stomach. He was conscious of even +the most minute movements. A thing that terrified +him especially was Gallagher’s chronic habit of +twitching his cheeks by grinding his back teeth at +intervals.</p> + +<p>As before, this agony lasted during a few moments +only, during the time that Gallagher was looking at +some notes on his table, with furrowed forehead. +But the moments seemed years, the agony was so +concentrated. Gallagher spoke again.</p> + +<p>Then again a strange change came over Gypo. +For as soon as Gallagher spoke he felt an +instantaneous relief. He breathed deeply. He sighed. A +delicious tremor swept over his body like a cool +breeze sweeping the back of a sultry sea in summer. +His jaws set again. Gallagher’s voice had a different +ring in it. It was softer. It was friendly. It was . . . +honour bright . . . it was argumentative. +Then there was a chance. . . . There must be a +chance yet. . . .</p> + +<p>“What did you mean, Gypo?” cried Gallagher. +“What did you mean by telling us all those lies about +the Rat Mulligan? You should be ashamed of yourself. +Even if you got a grudge against a man, that’s +no reason why you should try to get a thing like that +slung on to him. Good Lord! You’re a funny man, +Gypo. What put it into your head to tell me that +you saw him this evening at the Dunboy Lodging +House, when we know very well that he was within +one hundred yards of his own home at that very +minute, three miles away or more? Were you drunk +or what?”</p> + +<p>“I know I was drunk,” cried Gypo, responding +joyfully to this friendly overture from Gallagher. His +anger vanished. His whole soul leaned out eagerly +towards Gallagher, craving support. He paused +momentarily after uttering the first sentence. He +remained silent, leaning forward, looking at Gallagher, +intently, as if he expected Gallagher to finish the +statement for him. But when Gallagher’s thin lips +remained sealed, he hurtled on excitedly, as if he +were stumbling recklessly through dangerous +obstacles. His voice was uneven and flurried. “But I’d +swear be Almighty God that it was him I saw goin’ +out the door and runnin’ up the lane after Frankie. +An’ if it wasn’t him it must have been somebody else +like him, for I’d know the cut of his shoulders +anywhere. I would if ye put my head in a bag.”</p> + +<p>“You told me,” continued Gallagher in the same +friendly scolding tone, “that you followed the Rat +across town until you came to . . . Where was that +you said you lost sight of him? I forgot now.”</p> + +<p>Gypo started and stuttered. Good Lord, what had +he said? He must say the same thing he had said +before. But he could not remember saying that he +followed the Rat across town. Did he say it in the +public-house or did he not. His forehead was +burning. The hammering at the top of his skull was +blinding his eyes with pain. Almost unconsciously +he put his hand to his forehead and blurted out, +pathetically, on a peculiar high note, an amazingly +childish and hysterical sentence.</p> + +<p>“Commandant, I’m all mixed up an’ I can +remember nothin’.”</p> + +<p>It was horrid, that pitiful, forlorn cry of pain and +of absolute despair coming from such a giant.</p> + +<p>“All right then,” said Gallagher, “don’t worry +yourself. We have to get to the bottom of this +business, so we’ll just set to work, the two of us, and +maybe we can piece the whole thing together. Now +the best thing we can do is to begin at the end and +go backwards. We’ll work backwards until we come +to the point where you lost that man you saw +tracking Frankie McPhillip out of the Dunboy Lodging +House. In that case we’ll begin with where you were +before you came in here. Bartly Mulholland tells us +that you were at Aunt Betty’s, with a woman called +Connemara Maggie. You must have been with her, +because Bartly saw you with his own eyes giving her +two pound notes. There were three empty whisky +bottles in the room. They had been bought by you, +I suppose. Well? A man is entitled to drink his +own whisky that he has bought with his <strong>own</strong> money, +I suppose. That has got nothing to do with our +business, has it Gypo? None whatsoever. We +merely want to trace that man that tracked Francis +Joseph McPhillip out of the Dunboy Lodging House. +Well! What do we find next? A friend of yours +called Katie Fox, once upon a time a comrade of +ours, they are all to the front in this business, all +those people that were once comrades of ours, she +told Bartly Mulholland that you gave three pounds +to an English woman at Aunt Betty’s and two pounds +to Aunt Betty to pay a debt for this woman. You +wanted to send her back to London. A kind of +Barnardo’s Home or something, this Aunt Betty’s, +for stray women. Well, of course, that again has +nothing to do with us. A man is entitled to do what +he likes with his <strong>own</strong> money. But. . . . Good +Lord, Gypo,” he cried, striking the table and +bursting out into a strange hilarious laugh, “you were +having a time of it. Where did you get all the +money? Ha! Now don’t get excited. I know it’s +no business of mine. But if you’re going to be taken +back into the Organization . . . Well! There are +ugly rumours flying about. . . . You know the way +silly rumours fly around Dublin. It’s awful. But +the fact is, that people are talking about sailors, +American sailors, being robbed at the back of +Cassidy’s public-house. It’s only a rumour, of course, +and again, that friend of yours, Katie Fox—shall we +call her one of our ex-comrades?—she is responsible +for the rumour, according to Bartly Mulholland. Of +course, it’s obviously originated with her. She has +very probably invented that story out of spite, simply +because you went with the other girl. Or . . . Tell +me, is there any truth in it, Gypo? I mean in the +rumour of your having robbed a sailor?”</p> + +<p>Gypo started, as if out of a heavy sleep. His +brain went “thud, thud, thud,” trying to think +whether he should say “yes,” or “no.” If he said +“yes,” would he be caught in the act of telling a lie? +If he said “no,” would he be able to find any other +means of explaining how he got the money? Several +other questions and problems also crowded into his +mind simultaneously, in confusion. There were +doubts, uncertainties and suspicions. He was +completely in a mesh. His mind was like a refuse heap. +There was no beginning or end to any chain of +reasoning. He gave it up in despair.</p> + +<p>“Commandant,” he said, again touching his +forehead, “I can make out nothin’. My head is sore. +I must be drunk.”</p> + +<p>Again it was the same bewildered, agonizing cry +of a lost human soul. A weak, thin, childish voice, +coming from a giant.</p> + +<p>“Well, never mind,” said Gallagher cheerfully, +“we’ll leave it at that. We’ll carry on. Before you +went down to Aunt Betty’s, Mulholland saw you in a +fish-and-chip shop, treating a crowd of people to a +free meal. He said you spent about a pound there. +Two pounds, three pounds, two pounds, one pound. . . . +Well! You certainly were in a generous mood. +American sailors are paid well of course. Throwing +money about in all directions, eh? Like a millionaire! +But of course that’s your own business. We +are simply trying to get at the bottom of the business +we have in hand. That business is simply this: +<strong>who informed on your pal Francis Joseph +McPhillip?</strong>”</p> + +<p>Gallagher uttered the sentence slowly and in a loud +voice, looking closely at Gypo as he did so. Gypo +started. His lips opened wide. But he remained +silent. His lips moved, forming the words +Gallagher had uttered, silently.</p> + +<p>Gallagher watched the movement of Gypo’s lips +with curious detachment. Then he smiled slightly +before continuing.</p> + +<p>“Before that of course,” he continued, “I met you +myself in the public-house, in—er—Ryan’s public-house +in Titt Street. There was where you told me +that funny story about the Rat Mulligan. Ha, ha, +ha! Ha, ha, ha! . . .”</p> + +<p>Gallagher suddenly roared with laughter, holding +his sides, with his head in the air. Gypo almost +leaped from his form. He trembled.</p> + +<p>“Well, of all the stories!” continued Gallagher, +pretending to gasp with laughter. “I can’t make out +why you told me that story, Gypo. I can’t make it +out. Well, there’s no knowing. . . . But we must +get on with our own work. Time’s running short +and we have some stiff work to do before the night’s +over. Some stiff work, Gypo. Well? Before you +came into the public-house you were in Francis +McPhillip’s house in 44 Titt Street. There again, you +seemed to be acting in a very funny way, according +to Bartly Mulholland. Of course, I can understand +your being stirred up and excited on account of the +death of your pal. But still. . . . Do you remember +giving Mrs. McPhillip the money that fell out of +your pocket on to the kitchen floor? What did you +do that for? Eh? Good Lord! You have left a +trail of gold after you all the evening. I wish it +were as easy to track the man you saw coming out +of the Dunboy Lodging House after Frankie. But +why did you give that few shillings to Mrs. McPhillip +and say it was all the money you had when you knew +very well you had a lot more in your pocket at that +very moment?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know,” growled Gypo.</p> + +<p>His voice was no longer weak and childish. He +was stiffening again.</p> + +<p>“Maybe you were drunk even then,” suggested +Gallagher, almost excitedly, as if he were deliberately +trying to apologize for Gypo’s absurdities. +“Maybe you were drunk. What?”</p> + +<p>“Didn’t I tell ye before I was drunk,” grunted +Gypo.</p> + +<p>“Ha! I knew ye were drunk. Where had you +been drinking?”</p> + +<p>“Couldn’t tell ye where, but I know I was drinkin’ +with Katie Fox.”</p> + +<p>“Ha! Now we have it,” cried Gallagher, striking +the table.</p> + +<p>“Now you got what?” yelled Gypo, panting and +leaning forward savagely. He opened his fists out +like claws. He spread his feet out ready to spring. +“What have ye got, Commandant?” he yelled +hoarsely.</p> + +<p>Gallagher took his pistol by the butt and tapped +the muzzle slightly on the table three times. The +two armed men pointed their revolvers at Gypo’s +back. The three judges who had been calmly smoking +cigarettes started. Mulholland made a slight +movement towards the door.</p> + +<p>Then Gypo subsided into his seat loosely. The +dreadful fascination of Gallagher’s cold eyes sucked +his passion clean out of him. Breathing in a tired +way, he sat still. The tension relaxed again. +Gallagher laid his pistol on the table and smiled.</p> + +<p>“No need to have got excited, Gypo,” he said. “I +was just saying that it was when you were drinking +with Katie Fox you said you robbed a sailor at the +back of Cassidy’s public-house. Maybe she asked +you where you got the money out of pure idle +curiosity and you told her that as a joke. We all know +what curious creatures women are. That doesn’t +matter, though. What does matter is this. Could +you remember what time that was? When you were +drinking with Katie Fox? What time was it?”</p> + +<p>“I can’t say,” mumbled Gypo stolidly. “I’m +drunk. I can’t remember.”</p> + +<p>“Well, now that’s a pity,” said Gallagher. “For +it’s very important for us to find out what that time +was. If we were able to find out what time that was, +then we would surely be able to find out lots more. +Let us say it was nine o’clock at that time. Let us +say nine. That wouldn’t be far out? Would it be +far out, Gypo?”</p> + +<p>“How do I know what time it was?” roared Gypo. +“Amn’t I tellin’ ye that I was drunk?”</p> + +<p>“Well, now,” continued Gallagher, getting a little +more excited, “we have got as far as nine o’clock. +We are as far back as nine o’clock.”</p> + +<p>He paused. His face began to light up and his +forehead began to wrinkle. His eyes were no longer +steely and cold. They became restless points, fiery +and full of turbulent activity. They kept roaming +over Gypo’s face. His lips, on the contrary, were +creased at the corners in a strange, dry smile. His +voice was laughing and at a slightly higher and +sweeter pitch.</p> + +<p>“Now we have arrived at nine o’clock,” he +continued, “travelling backwards. Great way this for +travelling, Gypo. You never know what you are +going to bump against without knowing. Any minute +now we are liable to find something, Gypo. We +might in a few moments, even jump on the man that +informed on Frankie McPhillip. <strong>We might jump +on him.</strong> Now! Easy there, Gypo. I mean the +man you saw tracking Frankie McPhillip out of the +Dunboy Lodging House. Could you give the court +any idea of the description of that man you saw? +You say he was like Mulligan? Do you say he was +like Mulligan? Speak, man. <strong>Speak, I say</strong>,” he +roared.</p> + +<p>But Gypo was no longer able to speak.</p> + +<p>A sudden transformation had come over him. As +a thunder-storm bursts over a calm sea on a sultry +day, rending the oily ocean back and covering it with +cavorting, black ridges and white, churning froth, so +his body and soul responded to the sudden lightning +in Gallagher’s eyes and the ominous crackle of his +voice, uttering sugared threats, gambolling devilishly +with words. He crumbled away into an immense, +flabby, supine mass, that writhed on the wooden +form, a tangled heap of limbs lying piled helplessly. +His head dropped forward on his chest, swaying from +side to side on the pivot of his chin. His eyes sank +into their sockets. His face went ashen and still. +His legs became lax. His stomach wrinkled up like +an unpropped wall collapsing on its own foundations. +His whole body shivered and started into awe-inspiring +movement, monstrous and inhuman, revolting as +a spectacle of degrading vice and yet pitiful in its +helplessness.</p> + +<p>All the countless centuries of human development +that had left their impression on that body, to make +it into the glorious image of a God-like human being, +withered away during that time of agony, leaving +only a chaotic collection of limbs writhing and +strange visions racing over his convulsing features.</p> + +<p>The sight was fearsome even to the callous men +that surrounded him. Even <strong>their</strong> hardened souls +saw a vision of a strange life just then, an unknown +and unexpected phantom that comes to some once in +their lives and that never comes to many, the phantom +of a human soul stripped naked of the covering +of civilization, lying naked and horror-stricken, +without help, without hope of mercy. They forgot for +the moment their hatred of him. They forgot that +this helpless, shapeless mass of humanity was a +menace to their lives. They forgot that he was a +viper they must crush. They only knew at that +moment, that he was a poor, weak human being like +themselves, a human soul, weak and helpless in suffering, +shivering in the toils of the eternal struggle of +the human soul with pain.</p> + +<p>Their mouths opened wide. Their eyes grew soft. +Some made unconscious movements with their hands, +others with their feet, unconscious movements of +which their minds were not aware. For their minds, +disciplined by the corroding influence of hatred, sat +still and indifferent.</p> + +<p>One man alone revelled in Gypo’s agony. He +revelled in it unconsciously. He was no longer +conscious of his emotions. He had become demented, +drunk with the fury of his hatred. That man was +Gallagher.</p> + +<p>He rose lightly from the table, without a word, +pawing the table softly with his hands for support, +like a panther finding foothold for a spring. His +lean, glossy, sallow face was lit with a glow of +passionate eagerness, like a lover approaching his +beloved. But it was not the pure, resplendent +eagerness of love. It was the eagerness of the preying +beast about to spring. The lips laughed, thin, +wrinkled, red lips drawn upwards and downwards +from the set, white teeth. The eyes glittered. The +forehead twitched. The hands trembled. The +whole body shivered slightly, with those minute +shivers that pass down the side of a setter when he +stands poised over his prey. He rose gradually from +the table. He stepped over his chair with his right +foot, to avoid moving the chair. He released his +body from contact with the table and the chair. +His eyes were fixed on Gypo’s face. He stood +crouching. His head was swung forward, almost on +a level with his stooping shoulders. He groped with +his right hand on the table for his pistol. His fingers +found the butt. Slowly they embraced it. The +forefinger sought the trigger and found it. He lifted +the pistol from the table. He brought it with a +sharp movement to his hip. Its muzzle pointed at +Gypo’s chest. He took one short pace forward.</p> + +<p>Gypo uttered a sharp yell and put his two hands +to his face, shielding his eyes. But he took them +away again almost immediately. They dropped to +his sides. He must look at Gallagher’s eyes. He +could not remain hidden from those eyes. They +burned into his flesh unless he looked at them with +his own.</p> + +<p>Gallagher spoke. His voice was almost inaudible. +It was soft and sweet like a girl’s voice.</p> + +<p>“As you seem to have lost your voice,” he whispered, +“I had better tell you myself who that man +was. There’s no need to describe him for the court. +The court can see the man for themselves. I’m +going to tell the court the very name of the informer +that betrayed his comrade, Francis Joseph McPhillip, +I’m going to point out the informer with my own +hand. That is the man,” he cried suddenly, with +terrific force, turning to the judges and pointing his +pistol at Gypo. “Comrades, the informer is Gypo +Nolan, who is sitting there on that form.”</p> + +<p>He had scarcely finished when Gypo uttered a +muffled scream like a dumb animal in mortal agony. +He tumbled forward to the stone floor. He frothed +at the mouth. He reached out his trembling hands +towards Gallagher.</p> + +<p>“Commandant,” he cried, “I didn’t know what I +was doin’. I declare to God I didn’t know what I +was doin’. Can’t ye see what I mane?” He raised +his voice to a scream and he kept dragging himself +forward over the floor towards Gallagher’s feet. +Then he struggled to his hands and knees. He +stretched out his hands on either side, panting: “Is +there no man here to tell him why I did it? I can’t +tell him. My head is sore. I can’t tell him. +Commandant, Commandant, you an’ me, Commandant. +We’ll make a plan, the two of us . . . uh-r-r-r. . . .”</p> + +<p>His voice sank into an inarticulate jabber as his +hands clutched Gallagher’s boots and he sank again +prone to the ground. His thick lips that tried to kiss +Gallagher’s boots were imprinting kisses on the stone +flags. Gallagher kicked away the clutching hands +and called out sharply:</p> + +<p>“Take him to the cell and place him under close +guard.”</p> + +<p>Immediately the four armed men rushed forward +and bent down to seize Gypo. But as soon as they +touched him, he stiffened. He immediately rose +with them to his feet, with an accession of +unaccountable strength. He shook the four men off with +a shrug of his whole body. Then he was about to +crouch to rush at Gallagher, when the four of them +flung themselves upon him again with a simultaneous +cry. He swayed for a moment on bent thighs, +reeling under the impact of the four bodies, two of +them on his back, two gripping him about the waist. +Then he took a fierce, taut step forward with his +right foot, gasping as he did so. He planted the +boot on the floor with a ringing sound and then +jerked himself backwards. The two men who had +landed on his back, flung their arms around his +neck and swayed, banging their heads together, their +legs flying adrift. A cry arose: “Overpower him. +Help! Help!”</p> + +<p>The three judges moved back from the table and +stood against the wall, undecided whether to run for +safety, or to rush to the attack.</p> + +<p>Mulholland pulled at Gallagher’s arm excitedly.</p> + +<p>“Will I fire, Commandant?” he whispered.</p> + +<p>“Don’t shoot,” murmured Gallagher in a dazed, +sleepy voice. He was staring at the struggling men +with a sad smile on his face, as if he were dreaming. +“Don’t shoot. He’s not sentenced yet. Don’t fire, +I tell you.”</p> + +<p>Then Mulholland ran crouching and threw himself +at Gypo’s legs, trying to encompass them with his +arms. There were now five men hanging on to Gypo. +He was like Laocoön, entwined with snakes. He +stood bolt upright, with every muscle on his body +knotted.</p> + +<p>Then he lurched away to the right towards the +door, with that human cargo, unmoored and swinging +by the sudden lurch, clashing with soft thuds, in a +panting mass. He was brought within three paces +of the door by the lurch. He saw the door. With +an immense wrench that made his biceps crack, he +shook the men from off his back and neck. They +slithered downwards with a scratching sound of their +nails clawing his clothes. They clung round his +hips. Then he growled and stooped down to manhandle +the men that clung to his legs. His groping +hands clutched Mulholland’s hair. His fingers +groped downwards, seeking the throat to garrotte +him, when a mad rush of feet startled him. He +looked up.</p> + +<p>They were rushing at him through the doorway. +He saw them for a moment, a number of flashing +eyes, and set lips and clawing hands, rushing at +him. Then he dived headlong at his new enemies. +He forced them backwards in a mass into the +doorway. There they all fell, amid yells and hissing +curses and shrieks of pain. Then Gypo’s great boots +stuck out of the pile in the centre, while Mulholland’s +grinning, sallow face peered up between them.</p> + +<p>When they cleared away the jam of human bodies +from him he was exhausted. Four men pinioned his +arms behind his back. Then he was dragged along +the passage into the prison cell. They loosed him +and threw him in. They bolted the door.</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter" id="ch12"> + +<h2>Chapter XII</h2> + +<p>At eleven minutes past three Gypo was +condemned to death. The three judges +went away, leaving Gallagher in charge of +the execution of the sentence.</p> + +<p>At eighteen minutes past three Mulholland entered +the inquiry room, with the three men who had been +detailed to carry out the sentence passed on the +prisoner. They stood to attention in front of the +table at which Gallagher was sitting. Gallagher read +to them the decision of the court. Then he gave +them their orders.</p> + +<p>“Comrade Mulholland,” he said, “will be in charge. +When I leave this room you will cast lots in the usual +manner. You will then take the prisoner in the +motor-van to any part of the mountain road, about +half-way between Killakee and Glencree. There is +bog on either side of the road. At any spot in that +locality, you will be at least two miles from the +nearest house. Execute the sentence there. Bury +the body some distance from the road. Just drop it +into a pool of bog water. When you have finished +the job go straight ahead across the mountain to +Enniskerry and come back to the city by another route. +There are several. You can choose the most +convenient. Report to me at head-quarters as soon as +you come back, Bartly. I will wait for you there. +Carry on, comrades. Get the prisoner away as +quickly as possible. Use force if necessary to +prevent him from creating a disturbance, but you must +on no account execute the sentence until you get to +the mountains.”</p> + +<p>Gallagher left the room. He went across the passage +to the room where Mary McPhillip was sitting +alone. All the armed men were gathered in the +guardroom at the foot of the stairs. Tommy Connor +had come in now. He was explaining something +to them in a hoarse voice. Two men were stationed +outside the door of the cell. The sentry paced up +and down the passage again.</p> + +<p>Gallagher sat down on the wooden form beside +Mary McPhillip. He did not look at her. He +stared at the floor. His forehead twitched. His +face was very drawn.</p> + +<p>“We have discovered the informer, Mary,” he said +in a low voice. “Your brother will be shortly +avenged. It was Gypo Nolan who betrayed him.”</p> + +<p>There was silence. Gallagher had uttered the +last sentence dramatically, like a tremendous +revelation. But Mary did not speak. He looked at her.</p> + +<p>“Mary,” he said again, a little louder. “It was +Gypo Nolan who informed on your brother.”</p> + +<p>She shuddered and looked at him sadly in the +gloom.</p> + +<p>“I knew that,” she said, “all along. Poor fellow.”</p> + +<p>“What?” he gasped, staring at her.</p> + +<p>“What are you going to do with him, Dan?” she +asked, almost inaudibly. “I hope you’re not . . .” +She stopped.</p> + +<p>Gallagher looked at her sharply, in wonder, +suspiciously, as if he had suddenly proved to himself +that all his calculations had been wrong about +something.</p> + +<p>“Surely what, Mary?” he said at length, almost +timorously.</p> + +<p>“You’re not going to kill him,” she said. “That +would only be another murder, added to . . . to the +other. It wouldn’t help the dead. Lord have +mercy on him.”</p> + +<p>“Murder!” ejaculated Gallagher dreamily, as if he +had heard the word for the first time in his life and +he were reflecting on its significance, incredulously +like a philosopher confronted unexpectedly by a +stupendous superstition. Then his nostrils expanded +and his face hardened into anger, as he realized her +meaning and her attitude towards the sentence that +was about to be passed on Gypo. “Murder, did +you say? Great Scott! Do you call it murder +to wipe out a serpent that has betrayed your +brother? Where is your . . . ? Do you call +yourself an Irishwoman? What? Good Lord! I don’t +know what to make of it. What . . . ? Good +Heavens!”</p> + +<p>“Listen to me, Dan,” she said, sobbing; “for God’s +sake, listen to me before you do this. Listen. I +didn’t know until now how awful it is. I was foolish +the way I talked at home this evening when all the +people were there. I was so mad the way father was +talking that I thought I could shoot the man that +informed on Frankie myself. But it would be murder, +Dan, just the same as any other murder. And——”</p> + +<p>“Oh, hang it!” snapped Gallagher.</p> + +<p>“Dan,” she whispered, “don’t do it, for my sake. +I love you. Don’t do it, for my sake and I’ll do +anything you want me. I feel I’m the cause of this.”</p> + +<p>“Mary, do you love me?” whispered Gallagher +excitedly, panting as he seized her right hand in both +of his. He bent towards her. “Say it again. Say +you love me.”</p> + +<p>But he drew back immediately, with a strange +and unnatural presence of mind. He was afraid that +the passing sentry might see him.</p> + +<p>Tears were rolling down Mary’s cheeks. She +looked away towards the doorway. She kept silent. +Gallagher leaned back from her, watching her face +intently. He looked at her from under his bunched +eyebrows. His lips were set firmly. His forehead +convulsed. He appeared to be struggling with a +savage passion and at the same time struggling to +think coherently on the intellectual plane. He was +trying to probe the movements of her mind so that he +might conquer it with his mind. He wanted to conquer +her mind and make her subject to him, to make +her his mate on his own terms. He told himself that +he was doing this, so that she might help him for the +conquest of power. He refused to admit to himself +that he was inspired by passion. He despised +passion.</p> + +<p>The silence was very peculiar and tense. Mary +was conscious of it. But Gallagher was not +conscious of it. Then Mary spoke. She talked rapidly +without looking at him. She talked in an irritated +tone.</p> + +<p>“Take me out of this place immediately, Dan,” +she said. “I was mad to come here with you. I +had no business to come here atall. Also, if you were +a gentleman you wouldn’t ask me to come. What I +said just now about loving you was not true. I only +said it trying to persuade you not to murder that +man. Before, when I used to read in the papers +about a man being shot, I used to think it was right, +but it’s a different thing when a man you know does +a thing like that. Frankie killed a man too, Lord +have mercy on him. Oh, God, have pity on us all.” +She became slightly hysterical. “Why can’t we have +peace? Why must we be killing one another? +Why——”</p> + +<p>“Hush! Keep quiet. Keep quiet.”</p> + +<p>“Isn’t it cruel, Dan?”</p> + +<p>She let her head fall on her hands. Her body +shook with silent sobs.</p> + +<p>Gallagher stared at her dreamily.</p> + +<p>“I will let her alone now,” he thought. “The logical +sequence of this outburst will be this. Her mind +will wheel around to the other extreme if I keep quiet +and don’t irritate her by attempting to convince her +that I am right. Her terror and her moral excitement +will exhaust themselves and go to sleep. Then +she will become aware of her strange surroundings, +mentally, in a different way. When her mind becomes +awake and normally acute again, she will see +me, this place and what’s going to be done with Gypo, +in an opposite light. When her mind is groping +about in this new attitude it will be easy for me to +influence her. I think I’m right. At least it always +held good, that rule. I remember the struggle I had +with Sean Conroy. But women are supposed to be +different from men a lot psychologically. But I have +to chance that. It would be suicidal to interfere +with her now. That’s certain. Still . . . I’m not +sure of myself with her somehow. . . . It’s not like +the others. And . . .”</p> + +<p>Again his passion surged upwards. He sat without +thought, fighting it, squeezing his palms together, +with his eyes on her bent neck.</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter" id="ch13"> + +<h2>Chapter XIII</h2> + +<p>When Gallagher left the inquiry room, +Mulholland went silently to a form and +sat down. The three men stood nervously +in front of the table watching him. They watched +him intently, in silence, as if each movement he made +was fraught with grave consequences to themselves.</p> + +<p>He took three matches from a box and placed them +beside him on the form. He handled them slowly +and deliberately, with a serious contemplative +expression on his face, like an old fisherman baiting his +hooks under the admiring glances of a party of +tourists. Then he took out a clasp knife and opened it. +He cut a piece off one match. He put the knife back +into his pocket.</p> + +<p>Then, suddenly, he cleared his throat with a noise +that sounded enormous in the silence. The three +men started. They looked at one another fearfully, +as if each had been caught by the others in the +commission of an indecency.</p> + +<p>Mulholland rose calmly and approached them, +holding the three matches on his open palm. Without +speaking he pointed to them. Two long and one +short. They all examined them. Right. Each +nodded his head solemnly. Not a word. Mulholland +nodded and marched away to the far end of +the room. They did not follow him now with their +eyes. They stared painfully at the floor.</p> + +<p>The tallest of them was a docker called Peter +Hackett. He was a fair-haired young giant, slim +and lean faced, with sleepy blue eyes and a gentle +mouth. His great bony hands were thickly covered +with long white hairs. He stood with his arms +folded on his chest, one leg thrust forward, his eyes +wide open and strained, his forehead wrinkled. He +was only twenty-two. This was the first time he had +been chosen for an affair of this sort. It was +particularly strange and odious to him, because he was +a good-natured soul, loved by all on the quays where +he worked. He had no conception of politics or of +any problem other than hurling, football, horse +racing and pitch and toss, which he played all Sunday +afternoon on the Canal bank with his cronies. He +often lost his whole week’s wages playing pitch and +toss. On these occasions, when he went home to his +young wife penniless, he would first of all dance +around the kitchen in a fit of rage and perhaps break +a thing or two, threatening to blow Kitty’s brains +out if she said a word. Then his anger would suddenly +evaporate, to be followed by a fit of sobbing. +During this fit he sat by the fire with his head in his +hands, moaning and begging Kitty to forgive him. +His wife always felt exalted when these outbursts +occurred, because the excitement of the quarrel and +Peter’s kisses, which lasted far into the night +afterwards, were a welcome break in the dreary monotony +of everyday life as a docker’s wife, scouring, cooking, +washing, with two children to look after on a docker’s +wages.</p> + +<p>Peter had no imagination. He lacked the refined +conscience and sense of injustice that attracts most +gentle natures like his towards a revolutionary +movement. He was not the stuff of which the other sort of +revolutionary is made either. He belonged to the +Organization simply because the rest of “the boys” +belonged to it, and out of fanatical hero-worship for +Commandant Dan Gallagher.</p> + +<p>Dart Flynn, on the other hand, was designed by +nature as a revolutionary, a man to stalk ahead of +the bulk of humanity, grimly destroying obstacles, +disturbing the sluggish existence of the herd, +terrifying the contented ones into activity, born with a +curse upon his brow, anathema to the mass of beings +who always seek tranquillity and peace at any price. +He was dour, dark visaged, built like the base of an +oak tree, almost square. His body and face were +fleshy and jealous of movement. His eyes were +small. They moved horizontally. He was clean +shaven, with a pink and white complexion, in spite +of the fact that he was thirty-five and lived a hard +life as a carter. In company, he hardly ever +expressed an opinion on politics, religion, or on any +other of the fundamental things that are discussed +with avidity by revolutionaries who carry their lives +in their hands. But in the secrecy of his own soul +he thought deeply on these matters. In his little +bare room in a lodging-house in Capel Street, he had +several works on philosophy and economics. He +had also worked out an amazing system of philosophy, +based on the premise that each human being +shares his soul with several different animals. The +man who could discover and have constant intercourse +with these animals would be supremely happy +and immortal.</p> + +<p>Flynn had no moral sense. He hated all human +beings who were not Communists. He loved all +children and animals. He gave most of his wages to +the hungry little ruffians in the street. He had no +relatives or dependents. He was an old member of +the Organization, highly respected for his courage, +his fidelity and his taciturn habits.</p> + +<p>The third man, Laurence Curley, was of a totally +different type from both his companions. He was +also the most nervous and timorous. He was twenty-eight, +pale faced, red haired, with a tall, thin frame, +slightly consumptive-looking, on account of his +hollow chest and stooping shoulders. His father had +been a doctor in a country dispensary district. He +had received a good education, but he early grew +dissatisfied with life and refused to study for the +Bar as his father wished. Instead he took a job +in Dublin as a clerk, in order that he might plunge +into the revolutionary movement.</p> + +<p>The theory of Revolutionary Communism interested +him far more than working for a revolution. +He gradually became a crank, hated by everybody. +He was always finding fault and reading or discussing +dull works on Socialism. His views were always +the most extreme and blood-thirsty. He used to +whisper excitedly, whenever he met a stranger who +did not know him yet, or when the least industrial +disturbance occurred:</p> + +<p>“The red flag will be hoisted any minute. Wait till +you see. Then blood will spill. Wait till you see. +Justice and liberty are bourgeois watchwords. The +proletarian watchwords are revenge and bread. The +proletariat knows how to deal out their deserts to the +oppressors.”</p> + +<p>He had always this sort of patter.</p> + +<p>Now, however, the three of them, so different in +essential characteristics, had reached a common level +of emotion. The silence of the night, the phantom-filled +cellars, the illegality and danger of the contemplated +act, the torturing uncertainty of the choice, +filled them with such delirious emotions that they +were beside themselves. They were not afraid. +They were beyond fear, on to a distant level of +emotion, where the common impulses, that agitate the +hearts of men, are unknown.</p> + +<p>Then Mulholland approached with the matches +arranged in his hand, so that their red heads alone +were visible.</p> + +<p>“Who’ll draw first?” he said carelessly, standing in +front of the group.</p> + +<p>After a moment’s pause Flynn came forward +hurriedly. He stretched out a fleshy hand, fumbled +awkwardly with the matches and then pulled one.</p> + +<p>They all strained eagerly to look. It was a long +match. Everybody sighed.</p> + +<p>“Next,” said Mulholland.</p> + +<p>Curley and Hackett looked at one another +excitedly. Then each spoke.</p> + +<p>“You go first.”</p> + +<p>“No, you go first.”</p> + +<p>“Go ahead. I don’t mind drawing the last.”</p> + +<p>“What’s the difference? You’re nearest. Draw.”</p> + +<p>“Why should I? It’s your turn. You draw.”</p> + +<p>“Come on,” snarled Mulholland, “one of you draw. +We have no time.”</p> + +<p>They both made a movement towards the matches. +Then each stopped to let the other advance. Their +hands and legs were jerky. They stared at one +another with hatred.</p> + +<p>“Come on,” hissed Mulholland again. “Didn’t ye +hear the Commandant’s orders, that we were to get +outa the place as soon as possible? Are ye afraid +or what?”</p> + +<p>“Oh no,” cried both men together in an off-hand +tone.</p> + +<p>They both rushed at the matches. They tussled +for them.</p> + +<p>“Keep back now. It’s my turn.”</p> + +<p>“Keep back, you. You weren’t so quick before. +Let me draw.”</p> + +<p>“No, I won’t. I was here first.”</p> + +<p>“For goodness’ sake,” cried Mulholland, “ye pair +o’ babies. Will I have to pull me gat on ye?”</p> + +<p>The two of them stood still, looking at Mulholland +dazedly.</p> + +<p>“It’s against the rules,” continued Mulholland with +a great sense of importance, “but I’m goin’ to call ye +in the order o’ yer rank. You draw first, Comrade +Curley.”</p> + +<p>Curley’s thin fingers shot out instantly. He drew +the match. It was a long one. He gasped. Then +he burst into a thin laugh.</p> + +<p>“Comrade Hackett.”</p> + +<p>Hackett stumbled forward. He reached for the +short match that Mulholland held out to him with a +strange smile.</p> + +<p>“It’s your shot, comrade,” whispered Mulholland.</p> + +<p>Hackett grasped the match and crushed it into +fragments immediately. He threw the little bundle +away in terror. He rubbed his palms slowly. Then +he struck his right coat pocket suddenly with his +hand. He laughed.</p> + +<p>“Good Lord!” he blubbered, “I thought I’d lost +me penknife.”</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter" id="ch14"> + +<h2>Chapter XIV</h2> + +<p>For ten minutes Gypo lay perfectly still +in the cell, after the door was bolted. He +lay on his back. His head and neck were +buttressed into an upright position by a square block +of stone that jutted from the floor, by the wall +farthest from the door. His feet were stretched out, +wide apart. One hand lay on his right hip, palm +upwards, with the fingers bent inwards, as if he had +fallen asleep clawing something. The other hand +lay across his eyes. He drew very deep breaths at +long intervals. His face was perfectly at peace. It +was bruised slightly around the mouth and on the +cheek-bones. Each feature was impassive, like the +features of a carved image. The glossy skin, the +humps, the eyebrows that were like snouts, the thick +Ethiopian lips, attained a majesty during that ten +minutes of abnormal rest, a majesty that was not +so apparent while they were in movement, +responding to the strange impulses of his mind.</p> + +<p>Gypo rested, exhausted, while he was being condemned +to death. It was a dead rest, like the rest of +a child in the womb before birth, sucking strength all +round for the savage struggle with life that will soon +commence. Every organ and tissue and muscle was +straining for a renewal of strength.</p> + +<p>When blundering reason flees, instinct, that is +fundamental and unerring, rushes to the defence of life.</p> + +<p>At twelve minutes past three, one minute after he +had been condemned to death, Gypo moved. He +opened his eyes and closed the right hand that lay +palm upwards on the ground. He clenched the hand +rigidly until the wrist joint snapped with the tension. +Then he took the other hand away from his eyes and +dropped it to his bosom. He moved his eyes around +from side to side, slowly, suspiciously, blinking and +listening intently.</p> + +<p>The cell was pitch black. Only at one point was +there a speck of light. There was a dim, oblong +patch of light hanging slantwise in the darkness some +distance to his left front. That was the aperture +near the top of the door. It did not penetrate the +darkness of the cell. It merely hung there, obscurely +and uselessly, like a foolish suggestion. All +round was pitch dark. Gypo shivered.</p> + +<p>He was not afraid. No. He did not feel at all in +the ordinary sense of the word. But he was immediately +fully conscious, as soon as he moved, of all +that had happened before he had been thrown into +the cell. Still more peculiar, he was quite calm and +collected about everything. The darkness consoled +him. He felt at home in it. It concealed him. +He felt immensely big and strong in the darkness. +There was nothing in his immediate neighbourhood +but a darksome void that his personality +overpowered. He could bellow and his voice would +resound through that darkness indefinitely. There +would be no resistance. There was no limit to the +darkness, no wall, no horizon, no end. He was +encompassed by it, sheathed in it. It wound round +and round him. It was an impenetrable coat of mail, +without weight, without thickness, intangible.</p> + +<p>Beyond it somewhere were his enemies. It came +between him and them. Ha!</p> + +<p>He gathered himself up with a sudden spring. He +got to his hands and knees. Several joints snapped +as he did so. His bruised body had grown stiff, +lying motionless on the stone floor. Just as he lay +that way on his hands and knees, he heard a rattle at +the door. Immediately he threw himself down again +and pretended to be asleep. But he fell so that his +eyes were toward the oblong patch of light. He +knew what had rattled. It was the sentry having a +look at him. An electric torch was thrust through +the aperture. It rested on him for a moment or two. +Then it was withdrawn.</p> + +<p>During the couple of moments that the torch-light +had flooded the cell Gypo’s eyes were busy. They +had darted around. Yes. The walls were hopeless. +He knew that of course. He had himself guarded a +prisoner in this same cell, a condemned prisoner +whom he and McPhillip and Jem Linnet, the bookmaker’s +clerk, had afterwards brought out in a car. +He knew the whole routine. Perhaps that knowledge +was responsible for his calm, partly responsible. +Nothing was uncertain in the near future. In a few +minutes they would come for him. Once in the car +it would be impossible to escape.</p> + +<p>All right. His only chance was in the cell. Ha! +That was why he was calm and collected. After all, +it was neither the darkness nor his knowledge of what +was destined to happen that made him calm. McPhillip +had at last made a plan. The door . . . the +door . . . the door!</p> + +<p>“Gypo,” he had said one night in Cassidy’s when +he was drunk, “if we ever get . . . ye know what +I mean, Gyp . . . click . . . you know . . . ye +needn’t worry. I can manage that cell easy. Only +I’d need you. I’m too small. Listen.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll do it, Frankie,” mumbled Gypo to himself +excitedly, as he crawled along the floor towards the +door.</p> + +<p>He moved like a bear on his hands and knees, with +his head down and his haunches high in the air. He +moved noiselessly until he reached the door. He felt +along the edge of the wall and then drew himself +gradually to his feet. For a moment he toyed with +the idea of taking off his boots, but he could not +remember that Frankie had said anything about that. +He decided to leave them on. He reached up with +his hands. He strained them to their full length +before he reached the top of the stone ledge over the +door.</p> + +<p>Drawing a deep breath he hoisted up his body, +using his biceps as levers. . . . His biceps swelled +and knotted and snapped. . . . His body rose +smartly and without apparent effort. In an amazing +way he swung around his legs from the hips and +landed his body gently on the ledge, resting on the +right side of his chest and stomach. The stone ledge +was no more than six inches wide. More than half +his body rested on the empty air, as it lay along the +ledge. But he was as cool as if he were standing +loosely on the broad, firm earth. He was acting on +the plan he and McPhillip had rehearsed. His body +performed the movements without his mind exercising +any control, either of guidance or of warning, +warning against danger that is called fear.</p> + +<p>After a slight pause, he leaned his weight on his +hands and rolled his body around in a reckless +movement. His legs shot into the air about two feet. He +stood poised on his hands for two seconds, as if he +were going to stand on his head. Then he lowered +his right leg. He brought it up to his hands. +Slowly, with snapping gasps, he balanced himself on +the right leg and stood up straight.</p> + +<p>He stood straight in the solid darkness for a +moment. He breathed twice rapidly. Then he groped +upwards for the roof. He found it about three +inches above his head. He pawed the stones hurriedly, +searching. He couldn’t find what he wanted. +It should be there. Mother of Mercy! He pawed +out farther. Nothing yet. Sweat stood out on his +forehead, suddenly, as if his body had been wrung. +Savage anger gained control of him. He bared his +lips and distended his eyes. His last hope gone? +Had they taken it away during the last six months? +He reached out one inch farther. Too far.</p> + +<p>With a muffled gasp, he hurtled forward from the +ledge. His hands scraped along the roof with a rasping +sound. Then, just as they fell in pursuit of the +falling body, the fingers of the right hand closed on +an iron ring. They closed on it like a vice. The +shoulder muscles snapped. Gypo swung across the +floor, brought up with a grunt, jerked and swung +back again, suspended from the iron ring by his +right hand.</p> + +<p>When he steadied himself, he changed hands on +the ring and groped about with his right hand, until +he found a hole in the roof about three inches away +from the ring. That was the hole of the trap-door, +through which the wine had been let down into the +cellar from the garden. He gripped the ring with +both hands and swung up with his legs, until they +found the far side of the hole. He jammed both feet +against the side of the hole and rested for four +seconds, breathing deeply. His knees were bent +upwards.</p> + +<p>He reached up into the hole with his right foot. +The foot reached the oaken door that lay across the +mouth. It had been fastened with leather hinges, +but these had worn away and they had not been +renewed since the house became deserted. Several +inches of earth had collected on it. Gypo pushed +against it and made no impression on this mass of +earth and rubbish that covered it. He took another +rest and then pushed with all his might. He raised +it suddenly, with a sucking sound, about three +inches. A mass of dirt and earth fell down with +a swish. It landed on the floor beneath with a +showery thud. The noise terrified Gypo. The +sentries outside the door would hear it.</p> + +<p>In a furious rage, he kicked with all his might +and sent the door flying away from the hole. A +whole load of earth fell with a rush and a gust of +cold night air came with it, with equal rapidity, +ferociously, as if it had been waiting a long time to +attack.</p> + +<p>In spite of the blinding dirt and the freezing air, +Gypo stuck his legs through the hole immediately +and clutched the garden surface with his heels. +Then he let go one hand off the ring and gripped the +side of the hole. He hurt his collar-bone badly as +he did so. Now his body was secure in the hole. +He let go the other hand, supporting himself on the +thigh muscles that gripped the sides of the hole +until the second hand and his head came into the +hole. Then he scrambled through on to the garden. +He bounded to his feet and hurtled forward on his +face.</p> + +<p>Two shots had thundered through the hole as he +cleared it. They were after him. He snorted with +fright. For a moment he stood still, confused by +the din of voices and the rushing feet. Then he +darted away headlong through the rubbish towards +the house, ten yards away. His only escape lay that +way. He entered the house at a bound, through a +hole in the kitchen wall. He cleared the kitchen in +two strides. He was in the hallway. Flash, flash, +bang, bang. Two more shots. His fist floored a +tall man. He rammed a second with his head. He +floundered through the hall. Bang, bang. They +whizzed closely past his right side. He slipped on +the flags of the hall as he tried to wheel towards the +right wall. He came to his hands and knees. As +he rose again a man threw himself upon him, firing +as he did so, so closely that Gypo smelt the +explosion that flashed blindingly by his ear. Missed +again. They closed, grappling one another’s bodies, +with groping, shifting paws. They tumbled in the +doorway. They both rose. Gypo loosed one arm +and struck. The other man collapsed without a +sound. Gypo dropped him. He fell on his back. +It was the Dart Flynn.</p> + +<p>Gypo grunted, bounded to his feet and wheeled +to the right, into the open air. With a gurgling +laugh, he bounded away into the darkness. He was +away, swallowed by the night.</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter" id="ch15"> + +<h2>Chapter XV</h2> + +<p>When Gallagher heard the first shot, +he started to his feet angrily. He thought +that his orders had been disobeyed and +that they had shot the prisoner before taking him to +the mountains. But even as he stood up, his anger +changed to terror. He heard the rushing of feet and +the babble of shouting voices, calling excitedly, in a +panic:</p> + +<p>“He’s escaped. He’s escaped.”</p> + +<p>“The stairs. The stairs. Up the stairs, quick.”</p> + +<p>Mary McPhillip screamed. Gallagher did not +heed her. For three seconds his body was numbed +with fear. He could not move a muscle. His lips +blubbered. He was like an exhausted man about to +have a heart attack. He stood unstably, like an +uprooted tree, balancing for its fall. Mary jumped up +and clung to him. He did not look at her. Then +Mulholland rushed in. He was livid with fear.</p> + +<p>“He’s escaped, Commandant,” he gasped; “he’s +gone.”</p> + +<p>Then Gallagher shook himself violently, thrusting +Mary from him rudely. Uttering a volley of almost +inarticulate oaths, he drew his pistol and grasped +Mulholland by the throat. Mulholland yelled and +struggled downwards to his knees.</p> + +<p>“Don’t shoot me, Commandant,” he whined. “It +wasn’t my fault. That man is a devil out of hell. +There’s a spell on him. Don’t fire for the love of +God.”</p> + +<p>“Damn you and God,” snarled Gallagher, hurling +him away.</p> + +<p>He rushed out into the hall.</p> + +<p>“After him,” he yelled. “After him. After him.”</p> + +<p>There was nobody to take any notice of him. +Everybody was on the street in pursuit of Gypo, +except the sentry, who stood uncertainly in the +doorway of the empty cell, with his pistol in his hand +and his cap turned backwards, terrified, gaping at +Gallagher.</p> + +<p>Then a rush of feet came on the stairs. Four men +were coming down carrying Flynn between them.</p> + +<p>“Who is that?” cried Gallagher.</p> + +<p>“It’s Flynn, Commandant,” whispered one.</p> + +<p>“His jaw is broken in a jelly,” whispered another.</p> + +<p>They arrived at the bottom of the stairs. Gallagher +glanced at the prostrate, sagging body of Flynn. +“Throw him in there on a form at once,” he +said. “Mulholland. Come here. Where are those +others?”</p> + +<p>“Here they come, Commandant.”</p> + +<p>“There’s no sight of him, Commandant,” gasped +Tommy Connor, leaping down the stairs. “We +thought we had better come back.”</p> + +<p>“All right,” said Gallagher. “Are you all here +now?”</p> + +<p>He spoke in a terribly calm voice now. It was +terrifying. Nobody answered for a moment.</p> + +<p>“Hurry on, Peter,” said Connor to somebody that +appeared at the top of the stairs.</p> + +<p>It was Hackett. He rushed down, panting, with +wild eyes. They were all back again.</p> + +<p>“Who’s responsible for this?” cried Gallagher.</p> + +<p>Nobody answered. He swore and strode away +down the passage to the cell. Connor and Mulholland +followed him. The others stood spellbound. +Gallagher pushed the sentry out of the way with a +curse and entered the cell. He flashed his torch. +He saw everything. A cold perspiration started +gently around his temples. He shivered. He left +the cell followed by the two men. Nobody spoke. +They returned to the men at the foot of the +stairway. As Connor passed the room where Mary +McPhillip was, he ran in, picked her up from the +floor and put her sitting on the form. Then he +rushed away to Gallagher.</p> + +<p>Gallagher stood looking at the ground for a few +moments, with the men standing around him in +silence. Then he looked around fiercely at every one. +He spoke gently and in a friendly tone.</p> + +<p>“Comrades,” he said, “our lives are at stake. +What’s more, the Organization is in danger. The +cause is in danger. Comrades,—that—man—must—be—found. +That man must be found if it costs +a hundred men. Do you understand?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, Commandant,” cried they all eagerly.</p> + +<p>“Finnigan and Murphy stay here on guard. Do +you hear?”</p> + +<p>They clicked their heels in silence.</p> + +<p>“Mulholland, you take the rest with you in the +van and try and cut him off from the bridges. He +will try and cross the river to the south to get away +to the mountains. Get away immediately. Place +your men and take up position yourself at the Butt +Bridge. I’ll send reinforcements to you there and +another officer. Slattery, you get reinforcements. +Mobilize ten men from this district. Take them +off your own list. Beat it. Quick. Off you go, +Bartly. Remember the Cause is at stake. We +are lost if that man gets away. He may be making +for the police already. Run for your lives.”</p> + +<p>They went up the stairs, rushing with fanatical +enthusiasm. In three seconds Gallagher was alone +at the foot of the stairs. One sentry took up +position at the top of the stairway. The other man +went into the guardroom with Flynn. Mary McPhillip +was standing in the doorway of the witnesses’ +room, shivering, almost hysterical with fright.</p> + +<p>Gallagher stood for almost a minute, motionless, +looking at the stairs, with his eyes almost shut. +Then he shuddered and went into the guardroom. +The sentry, a red-faced, young grocer’s assistant, +was tying a red silk handkerchief around Flynn’s +jaws. The only part of Flynn’s face that was visible +was his eyes. Gallagher watched the sentry tying +the knot at the back of Flynn’s skull. Then he +looked into Flynn’s eyes.</p> + +<p>Flynn stared back coldly. Although he was suffering +agonies of pain from his broken jaw, his eyes +betrayed no sign of pain.</p> + +<p>“Did you fire at him, Dart?” cried Gallagher in +a whisper.</p> + +<p>Flynn made a slight nodding movement.</p> + +<p>“Did you hit him?”</p> + +<p>Flynn raised his right hand and waved it from +side to side, like a marker giving the signal for a +washout. Gallagher sighed.</p> + +<p>“Stick it out,” he said coldly. “We’ll get a doctor +as soon as the reinforcements come. Can you +swallow a drop of brandy?”</p> + +<p>Flynn nodded.</p> + +<p>“Here’s my flask. Use it.”</p> + +<p>He put the flask into Flynn’s hand. He pressed +the hand as he did so. Then he left the guardroom +and walked over to Mary McPhillip.</p> + +<p>She left the doorway when she saw him coming. +He found her sitting on the form. He stood beside +her, looking at the ground, wrapt in thought, +gripping her shoulder with his right hand. She became +terrified at his attitude, at his silence and the look +on his face, which she could see dimly in the gloom. +His face had become ashen pale. His eyes had sunk +and grown glassy. The blood had left his lips. He +was continually grinding his back teeth, slowly.</p> + +<p>“Dan,” she whispered at length, “what’s the +matter with you?”</p> + +<p>He did not answer for several seconds. Then he +started, gasped, and let go her shoulder. He took +two paces rapidly towards the door. He halted and +put his hand to his forehead. He wheeled about +and looked at her curiously.</p> + +<p>“Oh yes,” he said calmly. “I forgot. Excuse +me. I was thinking of something and I didn’t hear +what you said. Let me see. Yes.”</p> + +<p>He sat down beside her. He took her right hand +gently into both his own and began to fondle it, +with the soft gentle movements of a cat. He began +to speak gently, in a soft, sad voice, looking at +the floor in front of him.</p> + +<p>“You’ll have to stay here with me now, Mary,” he +said, “until I’m leaving here. Maybe we’ll have to +stay here two hours, maybe more. Gypo has +escaped. I can’t move until I get news of him. The +prisoner has escaped,” he repeated almost inaudibly. +“If he can’t be found it will be the end of me, Mary. +He knows so much.”</p> + +<p>Mary turned towards him eagerly and swallowed +her breath. Her eyes grew moist and her lips quivered. +The gentle tone of his voice went straight to +her heart. It drew her towards him, not with the +dreadful fascination with which she was drawn towards +him before, but with a soft, gentle attraction, +like what she had imagined love would be. Not the +calm, calculating, respectable affection she +experienced for the man she intended to marry, Joseph +Augustine Short, but that tumultuous, devouring +passion which she had expected real love to be, the +love that was written of in books and poems. Ah! +How she could love him like this! Soft and gentle +like this! She could approach him and touch him, +touch something in him that was soft and gentle +and sympathetic and human. He was in danger. +Good God! It was good that he was in danger, if it +helped to disclose to her his real self. It had made +him weak, this danger, ridding him of the horrid, +impenetrable strength, that kept him cruel and cold. +If she could have him to herself like this, she would +sacrifice even her religion for his love. Aye! She +would even forsake God for him like this.</p> + +<p>So she thought, looking at him with tears in her +eyes.</p> + +<p>She smoothed his shoulder gently with her hand +and whispered to him:</p> + +<p>“Dan,” she said, “you are in danger. Can I help +you, Dan? Dan, you know I’d give my life for +you.”</p> + +<p>Gallagher turned towards her slowly.</p> + +<p>“You would, Mary,” he said softly.</p> + +<p>She nodded. He took her suddenly in his arms.</p> + +<p>“You love me, Mary. Say you love me, Mary.”</p> + +<p>“I love you, Dan,” she breathed on his lips.</p> + +<p>They kissed passionately, with strange abandonment. +Then they sat for a minute, with their cheeks +together, hardly conscious of anything but of a +strange exaltation that was undefinable. A hot feeling +of joyous exaltation pervaded their bodies. But +it was not the exaltation of love. It was an +abandoned sadness born of grief. The grief of two human +souls clinging together for solace. It was beautiful +and pure like love, that exaltation, born of fear, +and of the eternal melancholy of the entramelled +Irish soul, struggling in bondage.</p> + +<p>For Mary perhaps, it was almost pure mating love. +For she loved that gentle voice, the last remnant of +the gentle nature, that had been devoured in the +struggle of life and replaced by a cold, callous, +ambitious nature. She loved, but she only loved a +phantom, a shy ghost come for an hour of the night, +to fly from the dawn.</p> + +<p>But for Gallagher, his caresses were a mask. He +had hidden behind his gentle nature for the moment, +as behind a mask, to rest and plot. Men like him +always lean on women for support in moments of +extreme danger.</p> + +<p>Even as he sat with her arms about him, with her +breathing words of love on his lips, he was thinking, +not of her, but of the great danger that confronted +him. Would Gypo inform again before he was +caught?</p> + +<p>At length, with a low exclamation he got to his +feet, releasing himself hurriedly from her embrace. +He clenched his fists.</p> + +<p>“Mary,” he said without looking at her, “you see +how I need you. I need somebody to talk to, somebody +to trust. There is nobody else but you I can +trust, Mary. And I don’t know why I trust you.”</p> + +<p>He paused. She was not listening. She was suffering +a reaction from her exaltation. Why was he +talking like this? A lover did not talk like this. +He was only thinking of himself.</p> + +<p>“But since the first time I saw you, standing in the +crowd with another girl, while I was addressing a +strike meeting, I knew I could trust you. I remember +thinking as I saw your face, that you were the +woman for me. It was queer and I can’t explain it. +Something in your face told me that you were my +woman. It’s very queer, that. You see thousands +of faces every day. There is something queer and +mysterious in them all, something suspicious and +hostile. Then you see one face that you have been +looking for all your life as it were. There is nothing +hidden or mysterious in that face. It can hold +nothing hidden from you. It’s queer. I haven’t +worked it out yet. It’s in the eyes, I think. The +eyes are the doors of the mind. But I haven’t +worked it out yet. But what am I talking about? +It’s a sure sign that I’m worried when I ramble off +like this. I talk to myself in my room, for want +of a listener, when I’m up against it. I talk all +night, sitting up in bed, with a pistol in my hand.” +He lowered his voice and smiled with his lips, while +his eyes glittered. He looked at her for a moment. +“If the boys knew that I get the wind up now +and again, they wouldn’t be afraid of me. And +then. . . .” He drew his hand across his windpipe. +“Sure. That’s what keeps me safe. They are +afraid of me. That’s all it is. It’s not love. Oh +no. I wouldn’t have it, anyway. There’s nothing +like fear. Nobody loves me. Not even that slobber +of a fellow Hackett, who stooped down one day +on the quays to tie my shoelace. He’d die for me, +but only because he believes I’m cold and hard and +callous and that I could shoot him dead without a +quiver of an eyelid. You see . . . he’s the opposite +from . . . There you are, Mary. Good God! I +must be very bad to-night. I’m wandering. Mary, +does your right knee tremble and you can’t stop it?”</p> + +<p>“Dan, Dan,” cried Mary, seizing his right knee in +both her hands, “don’t worry. Don’t worry, Dan.” +She began to rub the knee. “That’s nothing. My +father often gets it. It’s only nerve tension. A +nurse out of the Mater Hospital told me all about it. +You can live to be a hundred with it. She says +it’s due to tea drinking. But . . . Dan, why are +you so hard and cynical all of a sudden about +everything? Can’t you give it all up and settle down? +You said you——”</p> + +<p>“Settle down?” cried Gallagher, jumping to his +feet and looking at her fiercely, as if she had +suggested a heinous crime. “Give it up! How do you +mean? Pooh! Women, women, women! You don’t +understand that it’s my life. It’s my life, I say. +You might as well tell me stop breathing and . . . +After all . . .” He seemed to think of something +startlingly unexpected, for he looked at her with +open lips. He continued, shyly almost, in a scarcely +audible voice, as if he were soliloquizing. “After all, +you weren’t affected the way I expected you would +be. You would never understand. You would +never join me in the way . . . Hm! I see.”</p> + +<p>“Now what have I said, Dan?” she whispered +nervously, biting her fingers.</p> + +<p>She was terrified that she had lost him . . . yes, +in a way, strangely enough, she was terrified at losing +his love, as if she had him securely in her possession, +as a loving husband for a long time . . . that she +had lost him by some foolish phrase.</p> + +<p>“Nothing,” he muttered solidly.</p> + +<p>He crossed his hands on his chest and began to +pace up and down once more. It was a long time +until he spoke. She tried to get enraged with him +and could not do so. She began to pity herself.</p> + +<p>“It’s waiting like this that’s hard,” he said +suddenly in a whisper. “I don’t mind dying. It’s not +that I mind. It’s waiting without a chance of knowing +what’s going to happen. They talk of the bravery +of those louts that get the V.C. What are they +but stupid carrot heads? Theirs is the bravery of +the dull-witted ox. A man must be intelligent to be +brave. It’s only the intelligent man that can +visualize danger. If he is brave he never seeks danger, +but he seeks dangerous methods of life. You see +the difference? Well, it doesn’t matter anyway. I +had this all worked out a long time ago so I don’t +need to discuss it very much. But this is the point +I have to explain now. There is no danger in open +warfare. There’s merely death, and death is not +dangerous. The Russians proved that. Not recently, +but in Bielinsky’s time. That is, of course, +they proved it in relation to their own needs. But +according to my own calculations and discoveries, +death brings us back into the great consciousness of +the Universe, which is eternal. Therefore death, +properly speaking, is not death. It is a second stage +of birth. No, that’s quite wrong. I can see where +that would lead me. There is neither birth nor +death. But . . . All that’s out of the count. We +have to tackle a minor question. Obviously it’s a +minor question. Now that’s better. Now we see +death is not a danger. But defeat is a danger. Defeat +by one’s enemies. Not defeat by one’s friends. +But of course there are no friends. Friends is a +bourgeois word. It has no longer any meaning. So +defeat in the true sense means defeat by one’s +enemies. It’s synonymous. Well, I face defeat. +Therefore. . . .” Suddenly he waved his right hand +in a circular fashion above his head and then pointed +it fiercely at the wall to his left. “It’s waiting like +this that’s hard,” he cried fiercely. “I’ve been +out with a gun many a time. I’ve been shot at. +I have two holes in me. That’s nothing. You don’t +know what’s happening because you become an +animal. But waiting is different. You are in +command. That’s different. A brain, a mind, a great +eye, probing the unknown. But . . .” He stopped +suddenly and tittered audibly in his throat.</p> + +<p>“Jesus, Mary and Joseph protect me,” Mary began +to murmur rapidly to herself. She shut her eyes +and tried to think of Heaven. Her mind had +suddenly become void of all sense of knowledge and +emotion. She felt an intense cold in every pore of +her flesh. As she rambled through the prayer over +and over again with her lips, a ridiculous rigmarole +of a song went through her mind with a tintillating +sound, about, “Piping Tim of Galway.”</p> + +<p>He sat down beside her on the form, bent towards +her and kissed her coldly on the forehead. His cold +lips remained on her forehead for three seconds. +Then he sighed and got to his feet again. He must +keep in movement. He must keep talking. He +could not stop his brain from thinking at an enormous +rate and the only way to relieve the congestion +was by talking aloud. The formation and enunciation +of the words deflected a fraction of the brain +forces and liquidated them. Faster, faster, wilder, +wilder he must talk, to keep pace with the +tremendous speed of his heated brain.</p> + +<p>“Where is he now?” he whispered with a kind of +cackle in his throat that was like a laugh. “Where +is he now? Why can’t we see with the mind, long +distances? How very stupid I am after all in spite +of my philosophy. He might be in the police station +at this very moment, with a big, fat sergeant taking +down his statement.” He shuddered and bit his lip. +“Good Lord Mary! If you only knew what a statement +he could make. Ha! ha! He and Francis are +the only two men in the Organization who could +tell anything worth while. And Francis is dead.”</p> + +<p>He paused. Mary bit her teeth, dispelled the +tintillating rigmarole of a song and began another +prayer, one to Our Lady of Perpetual Succour.</p> + +<p>“Ye see, Gypo was so useful. There were things +he could do that no other man could do. Not so +much by his immense strength, as on account of +his particular mental qualities. It’s easy to get as +strong a man, but a mind like that is hard to find. I +doubt if there is another. He was priceless. Damn +him. He’s a superhuman monster. Why did I say +<em>was</em> before? He is. <strong>He is.</strong> That’s the worst of +it. I wish he . . . The government would give a +million pounds for that statement. Good Lord! I +never thought Gypo could turn informer. It must +have been a mistake. I couldn’t be wrong about +him. Some mistake. Sure. He isn’t the type. Sure. +I swear he isn’t. How could he be? He responds +to me like, like a needle to a magnet. Then how did +he inform? On his own pal too! That’s the strange +thing about it. I’ve been studying him for eight +years and he never showed any signs of personal +initiative. Never once. I shouldn’t have dropped +him for six months. But of course I had to keep up +respect for the rules of the Organization. Good +Lord!” he cried pathetically, looking at the ceiling +and wringing his hands almost in despair, “I’m alone +with nobody to help me. Mary, there’s nobody to +give me advice. Why did nobody warn me against +expelling Gypo? What?”</p> + +<p>He paused. She did not reply. She shuddered +and did not look. It was difficult to pray. She was +so tired. And it was terrifying not to pray. Then +she might have to listen to him.</p> + +<p>Then suddenly she was startled into an upright +position, with her eyes staring and her mouth wide +open. Gallagher had uttered a strange sound. +Then he ran crouching to the form. He hurled +himself upon it. He clutched at her knees. He was +looking with wild, strained eyes at a point on the +wall. He jabbered in a dry parched voice.</p> + +<p>“There he is, Mary. I see him. I see him. I +see the sergeant writing it down. They are giving +him a drink. D’ye see him, Mary, with his little hat +perched at the back of his head, making the +statement? D’ye hear him say my name? D’ye hear +him?”</p> + +<p>She drew his head towards her with both hands, +trying to make him look at her face, trying to get +his staring eyes away from the wall, but he struggled +against her. His eyes were fixed wildly on some +point in the wall. He writhed.</p> + +<p>Then suddenly he sighed, turned towards her and +smiled. It was a natural, healthy smile. His eyes +danced humorously as he smiled. His terror had +passed away, giving place to a momentary joy. He +felt hilarious, like a woman drunk with wine. He +took Mary suddenly into his arms and kissed her. +He tickled her neck playfully with his fingers, +laughing all the time.</p> + +<p>But she struggled to free herself, panting. He +loosed her and stopped laughing, looking at her in +surprise.</p> + +<p>“Did I frighten you, Mary?” he said casually. +“That’s all right. I often get a fit of the blues like +that. Don’t worry. Did you think I was mad?” +he added with a little laugh.</p> + +<p>“Oh, you’re all right now, Dan, ha, ha.”</p> + +<p>She was trying to laugh to cheer herself, but she +made a poor job of it.</p> + +<p>“Sure I am, Mary. As right as rain. Everything +will be all right. Of course it will. Don’t +worry.”</p> + +<p>There was a long silence. They sat close +together, looking at the ground.</p> + +<p>“Tell me, Dan,” whispered Mary awkwardly, +“did you see anything that time? When you were +looking at the wall? Did you see anything? Tell +me, quick. It’s such a queer place, this. I think +there are devils in it.”</p> + +<p>“Damn it!” snapped Gallagher. “Why did you +bring the subject up again, when I want to forget it? +Devils! Huh! Devils!”</p> + +<p>He jumped to his feet and took two paces forward, +stretching his hands out over his head with peculiar +intensity, like a man with a rheumatic twinge in his +shoulder blades. Then he shrugged himself and +rattled off with startling suddenness, in a quite calm +voice, cheerful and debonair.</p> + +<p>“You are right,” he said, “after all, in asking the +question. I should have explained at the time,” he +yawned, “what I meant by seeing him. Of course I +was speaking figuratively. There are no such things +as devils, at least not supernatural creations, as the +current superstition understands them to be. The +only devils to be afraid of are human devils. I know +numbers of them. They are real enough. But they +wear sheep’s clothing. Respectable, law-abiding +fellows. I’ll see them again in a few hours, if Gypo +gets to the police station with his story. They’ll +drawl out slowly their sentence on me. Ha! +Pretty boys. And here I am doing nothing while +they are . . .”</p> + +<p>He moved rapidly up and down again, clutching +his hands behind his back, jerking his body about +and crunching his teeth.</p> + +<p>“I am alone,” he continued. “Alone. I stand +alone. They can easily buy off the rest of the +Executive Committee. They’ll be only too glad to get +away free, with their lives, at any cost, if it comes +to a fight. If evidence is found against me, sufficient +to prove certain things, they can strike at me +with impunity. My own rank and file would be the +first to stone me to death. Their damn superstitions +always stand in the way of revolutionary +beliefs. They talk at International Head-quarters +about romanticism and leftism and all sorts of freak +notions. What do they know about the peculiar +type of hog mind that constitutes an Irish peasant?”</p> + +<p>“How dare you?” cried Mary indignantly.</p> + +<p>He looked at her. Her eyes were flashing. She +sat erect on the form. He had never seen a woman +wild and imperious like that. He smiled weakly.</p> + +<p>“Sorry to hurt your feelings,” he said cynically. +“But I’m beyond that. Pish! I’ve got the whole +country in a fine net and I’m within the law until +they find something definite to go upon. I can snap +my fingers at the lot of you.” He grew fierce and +arrogant. “You and your patriotic ideas! I was +wrong about you. I don’t want you. I never +wanted you. Do you hear? I snap my fingers at +the whole world. That hulking swine can do his +best. I will drain his blood before dawn. Mark +my words. He’ll never reach the police station. +My destiny stands against him. And——”</p> + +<p>Just then the sentry’s challenge rang out. Gallagher +immediately stood stock still and listened. +Then he rushed into the passage, drawing his pistol +and muttering something. Two men were hurrying +down the stairs. The first of them came up smartly +to Gallagher and clicked his heels.</p> + +<p>He was a small, slight man, with hawk’s eyes and +a long, pointed, curved nose. He wore a loose +raincoat and a check cap. He was Billy Burton, an +Insurance Agent, a captain in the Revolutionary +Organization. Gallagher shook hands with him +eagerly.</p> + +<p>“Glad they found you in, Billy,” he said. +“You’re the very man I want.”</p> + +<p>He led Burton into the guardroom and rapidly +explained the situation. Then he detailed a plan. +He detailed the plan coolly and minutely as if he had +spent weeks at it.</p> + +<p>Burton listened, blinking his little eyes, sniffing, +biting his nails, fondling the butt of his automatic +pistol in his breast pocket.</p> + +<p>Over on the form, Flynn was sitting, with his +broken jaw swathed in a red silk handkerchief. He +sat impassively, inscrutably communing with himself. +He seemed to be unconscious of his surroundings, +with his mind fixed immutably on some infinite +problem.</p> + +<p>The only sounds in the room were the drip, drip +of the water from the many roofs and the patter of +Gallagher’s voice.</p> + +<p>His voice was again cold, hard, dominating, vital.</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter" id="ch16"> + +<h2>Chapter XVI</h2> + +<p>At a quarter to four the drizzling rain +ceased. A sharp bustling wind arose. It +came screaming down from the mountains +upon Dublin. It was a hard, mountainous wind, a +lean, sulky, snowy wind, that rushed through the +sleeping city savagely, so that even the drops of rain +on the muddy sidewalks leaned over before it, with +frills on them.</p> + +<p>The clouds arose, their hanging rumps cut away +by the newborn wind. They hung high up in the +heavens, gashed and torn, with a sour expression on +their grey, slattern bodies. Here and there a rent +came in the dishevelled panorama of cloud and the +sky appeared, blue and chaste and a long way off.</p> + +<p>This change in the mood of nature occurred when +Gypo was bounding away from the Bogey Hole, +trembling shakily with excess of energy. He ran +through a short, narrow lane, so narrow that his +shoulders grazed either side as he dashed through. +He crossed a thoroughfare in four strides, casting a +look on either side as he leaped across. He saw a +sloppy roadway on one side, with a watchman’s glowing +brazier at the far end and on the other side a +hill. Tall tenement houses lined the thoroughfare, +their battered old walls rambling up towards the sky, +their squalor hidden by the majesty of the night.</p> + +<p>He fled across the road and entered a dark archway. +Then he bumped suddenly against an old cart +and went head-over-heels with a smothered exclamation. +The concussion and weight of his body propelled +the cart a distance of three yards on its crazy +wheels, with the shafts scraping along the ground. +He struggled to his feet and was about to rush away +again, when a human voice, coming from beneath +him, made him stand still. He looked down fiercely. +It was only some homeless derelict, who used the +archway and the cart as a house and a bed.</p> + +<p>“The curse of—” began a cracked, shivering +voice.</p> + +<p>Gypo was gone, with a clatter of boots, over the +cobblestones of the archway. He debouched into a +wide street of new, red-brick houses. He gripped a +wall and peered around him, panting for breath, +wild with the excitement of his escape.</p> + +<p>It was then that he noticed the wind, the lifting +clouds, and the far-away sky. He smelt the wind as +he breathed in great gasps through his nostrils, to +ease the pressure on his heart and lungs. Then +suddenly, he longed for the mountains and the wide +undulating plains and the rocky passes and the +swift-flowing rivers, away to the south in his own country. +Freedom and solitude and quiet, with only the wind +coming through the bog heather! Hiding in some +rocky fastness of the mountains, listening to the +wind! Away, away, where nobody could catch him! +To the mountains! To the mountains! Dark blue +mountains with bulging sides and little sheep +roaming over them, that he could catch and kill!</p> + +<p>A wild ferocity of joy overcame him. He stared +with dilated nostrils ahead into the rim of the sky +above the houses, towards the south. He gazed, as +if he were measuring the distance between him and +the mountains, so as to take a giant leap, that would +carry him at once into the heart of their solitude.</p> + +<p>Then he bent down, looking ahead intently. He +spat on his hands. He put his hand to his head to +settle his hat. But his hat was not there. His skull +was bare and damp. He felt all over it and found a +patch of clotted blood at the rear base, where it had +been kicked during the struggle in the inquiry room. +He took no notice of the blood, but kept feeling all +over the skull, with a dazed look in his eyes, +muttering:</p> + +<p>“What am I to do without a hat? I had it this +two years.”</p> + +<p>In the same dazed way he felt all over his body. +He uttered a little shout. He had found it in his +trousers pocket, where he had stuffed it, during the +inquiry, when he heard that ominous ring in +Gallagher’s voice. He clapped it on to his skull, all +wrinkled and tattered and tiny. He beat it with his +palms, as if it were a mattress. Then, with a gentle +sigh, he darted away, headed due south for the +mountains.</p> + +<p>He ran recklessly, without thinking of the way, or +taking any precautions. It was the slum district +which he knew so well, the district that enclosed Titt +Street, the brothels, the Bogey Hole, tenement +houses, churches, pawnshops, public-houses, ruins, +filth, crime, beautiful women, resplendent idealism +in damp cellars, saints starving in garrets, the most +lurid examples of debauchery and vice, all living +thigh to thigh, breast to breast, in that fœtid morass +on the north bank of the Liffey. He ran through +narrow streets and great, wide, yawning streets, lanes +and archways, streets patched and buttressed, with +banks of earth from fallen houses almost damming +them in places, pavements strewn with offal, +soddened by the rain.</p> + +<p>He never made a mistake. He was headed for the +mountains. The smell of the mountains was in his +nostrils, flooding his lungs, making his heart pant +with longing.</p> + +<p>At last he entered Beresford Place and saw the +river. Instinctively he paused, leaning against a +wall, to examine the Bridge. He gasped and +trembled.</p> + +<p>Two men were standing at the near side of the +Butt Bridge. They had already forestalled him. +He listened. He toyed with a last hope. He moved +cautiously across the open space, to reach the shelter +of the ruins of the Custom House. He reached it. +He peered closer at the men. They were still +indistinct. After all, they might be robbers, workmen, +homeless fellows trying to pass the night, students +coming from the brothels and having a last drunken +argument on their way home. He crawled nearer. +Then his little eyes blinked and narrowed.</p> + +<p>One of the men crouched against the biting wind. +Gypo recognized the crouching figure silhouetted +against the sky. It was Mulholland. And the +other man, standing stiff, with his hands in his +pockets, was Peter Hackett.</p> + +<p>Gypo’s head became hot and stuffy. His eyes +closed, as a sudden pain struck him in the forehead. +He had an impulse to rush forward at the two men +and strangle them. But he did not move. He was +not afraid of the two of them, in spite of their being +armed. He did not fear their guns. But they were +part of the Organization. The Organization was at +the Bridge. It had got there before him. He could +not pass. Gallagher’s cold, glassy eyes were on the +Bridge. He could not pass.</p> + +<p>The smell of the mountains left his lungs and his +nostrils. The wind still blew about his crouching +body. But it had lost its odour. Now it was only +sharp and biting, an enemy that drove him +backwards, skulking and dumbfounded. Where was it +driving him? Where was it driving him?</p> + +<p>He crouched away before it, without taking counsel +with himself, with his head hanging limply on his +breast. He crouched across the open space and +entered a roadway that led northwards. There was +nothing within him with which he could take counsel. +Within him he was blank and dark, like a bottomless +abyss filled with thick fog. His hulking figure was +driven by the wind to some boundless region where +there was no shelter. He was driven by the wind to +some boundless region where everything was +coloured a dim grey, amorphous, terrible.</p> + +<p>The vision of an abyss, grey, without shape, +swayed before his eyes as he strode northwards, +moving uncertainly, staggering slightly, without +guidance. His footsteps became slower. He came +to a halt and looked about him curiously. He was +under a railway bridge that crossed the street +sideways over his head, encased in a black covering. A +little dark laneway opened to his right. He walked +three paces up the laneway and leaned his shoulder +against the damp wall.</p> + +<p>There was shelter there. The wind did not come +in. Only an odd gust swivelled around the corner +and stirred the damp, musty air for a dying moment. +It was quiet and dark, like the interior of a cave. +He sighed.</p> + +<p>Gradually he grew composed. He grew calm and +very weary. He wanted to lie down and go to sleep +for a long, long time. There was no use struggling +any farther. He was alone. The darkness of the +night enveloped him.</p> + +<p>“There’s nobody here,” he murmured aloud.</p> + +<p>The ground was a puddle. The walls were blank. +He felt with his feet, seeking a dry spot to lie down. +Everywhere his boot sank into a puddle. He cursed +and moved on a pace. He felt again with his feet. +Still more puddles. He moved along still farther +and tried again. No use. Then he began to walk +along mechanically, feeling the ground at intervals. +Then he kept walking slowly without feeling the +ground. He had forgotten about lying down.</p> + +<p>He came to the end of the lane and saw a wide +street in front of him. He halted excitedly.</p> + +<p>“Where am I going?” he cried aloud.</p> + +<p>He started at the sound of his voice and peered +suspiciously over his shoulder. Of course there was +nobody there. Then he steadied himself and tried +to think of where he was and what had happened. +It was a terrific struggle.</p> + +<p>Slowly he began to remember recent events. Fact +after fact came prowling into his brain. Soon the +whole series of events stood piled there in a crazy +heap. Everything rushed towards that heap with +increasing rapidity, but nothing could be abstracted +from it. It was just as if the facts were sinking in a +puddle and disappearing. It was utterly impossible +for him to reason out a plan of action.</p> + +<p>“I must make a plan,” he murmured aloud.</p> + +<p>In answer to this exhortation came a vision of +Gallagher’s glittering eyes. They fascinated him. He +forgot about a plan. A horde of things crashed +together in his brain making an infernal buzz. He lost +control of himself and ran about under the archway, +striking out with his hands and feet madly, trying to +fight the cargo of things that were jammed together +in his brain. It was that insensate rage that +overcomes strong men at times, when they have nothing +upon which to vent their fury, no physical opponent.</p> + +<p>He worked madly at this curious exercise for fully +five minutes. Then he stopped, with perspiration +streaming from his forehead. He felt better. His +head was clear. He was again conscious of a grim +determination to escape, to outwit those fellows who +were on the Bridge. An idea that he thought +amazingly cunning occurred to him, an idea to escape +towards the south, by making a wide detour towards +the north, up by the North Circular Road to Phœnix +Park, then westwards through the Park, then +southwards again by Dolphin’s Barn. He was toying +with the route pleasantly when he was suddenly +interrupted by a sound of feet.</p> + +<p>Trup, trap, trup, trap . . . came the sound of +heavy feet coming down the street in front of him. +Two policemen on their beat were coming along +slowly, rattling door chains as they came. Gypo’s +heart began to beat with terror. He thought they +were looking for him. In his bewilderment he could +not understand that he was now under police +protection, an informer. He forgot that he had only to +rush up to them and say that the Revolutionary +Organization had condemned him to death and were +now tracking him, in order to be taken to a police +barracks, into safety. On the contrary, he still +regarded them as his enemies. His mentality had not +yet accustomed itself to the change that his going +in the police-station that evening had wrought in his +condition. To his understanding he was still a +revolutionary. He was not at all conscious of being +an informer, or a friend of law and order, a protégé +of the police.</p> + +<p>He bolted headlong out of the laneway and +clattered away across the street. He wheeled to the +right, ran ten yards and then dived into another lane. +He continued his flight without stopping. He ran +without purpose, without guidance, driven northwards +by panic and the impossibility of thought. +He ran headlong in all directions, into a street, down +its course, then to the left, back again in a parallel +line, down once more the street he had left, passing +several times the same corner in his mad flight. He +ran desperately, as if he were chasing some elusive +sprite that delighted in turning on its own tracks. +He floundered through pools. He struggled on his +hands and knees over waste plots. He crushed +violently through holes in torn walls. He climbed over +piles of bricks, over walls, jumped into backyards +and then climbed back again into another street. He +was scratched, covered with mud, dripping wet. His +eyes were bloodshot.</p> + +<p>Then suddenly a clock struck the half-hour close +by him. It was half-past four. He stopped dead, +attracted by the tolling of the clock. It was not the +sound but the remembrance it brought. He knew +that clock. It was near Katie Fox’s house where he +used to sleep. He stood in the middle of a narrow +lane, with his legs wide apart and his chest and +shoulders thrust forward listening to it. His lips +were opened wide.</p> + +<p>He stood, like an uncouth, half-formed thing, +alone in the half-grey shadows of the night, +wondering at strange things.</p> + +<p>“It’s two turns from here,” he murmured, “first to +the left, then to the right. She should be in be now. +That must be three or four o’clock.”</p> + +<p>Now he moved carefully, listening for sounds and +planting his feet lightly, close to the side of the lane. +He turned to the left, went down fifty yards and then +turned to the right. He entered a kind of circular +square, a crescent, with a church standing in the +middle. He moved around the crescent until he +reached the other side of the church. There, at the +corner of a little cul-de-sac, was the house in which +Katie Fox had a room, about fifteen yards away from +the church.</p> + +<p>All the houses in the little square were tenement +houses, old, dusty and grey, tattered, sordid, with +broken panes in their windows. Nearly all the street +doors were ajar. There was nothing to steal within.</p> + +<p>Gypo deferentially tipped his hat to the church as +he passed it. He entered the doorway of Katie Fox’s +house. The hallway was pitch black. He stood for +a few moments peering around in the darkness. +Then he saw a night-light on the first landing. He +recognized it as the light placed there every evening +by Mrs. Delaney, who had become a religious maniac +since her son was killed in the revolution of 1916. +He had been killed while he was running along the +streets, wounded, crying out for shelter.</p> + +<p>“If he ever comes home at night,” whispered Mrs. +Delaney confidentially to everybody, “he’ll see the +light burnin’ an’ he’ll know I’m in. God is good to +His own people an’ He’ll look after me Johnny.”</p> + +<p>Gypo felt comforted at seeing the night-light. He +moved noiselessly up the stairs until he reached it. +When he was passing it, rounding the angle of the +stairs, he paused, with his hand on the wooden +banister and looked at it. For some reason or other he +tiptoed towards it, leaned out when he was within +two feet of it, and blew it out. Then he started and +looked about him wildly. It was pitch dark again.</p> + +<p>“That’s better,” he said with a little sigh.</p> + +<p>He mounted the stairs steadily. They remained +good until he reached the third floor. Then he had +to move up a narrow, rickety, broken stairs to the top +floor, where Katie Fox had a room. He made an +awful noise, but it disturbed nobody. He heard a +child crying when he got near the top of the stairs. +The child belonged to Tim Flanagan, an unemployed +man, who occupied the opposite room to Katie Fox +on the top landing. He lived there with his wife and +three children. The baby had the measles and the +other two children were awake. One child was +laughing. Gypo could distinguish Flanagan’s weak, +timorous voice, trying to soothe the children.</p> + +<p>Gypo stood outside the door to the left, Katie +Fox’s door. He listened. A shaft of light streamed +through the keyhole and through a large, round hole +in the bottom of the door. A large piece of the door +had been gnawed away by a stray dog that Katie +Fox brought home one night. He bit his way out of +the room as soon as he got a meal. Gypo listened. +Katie Fox was talking within. Gypo knocked.</p> + +<p>“Who’s that?”</p> + +<p>“It’s only me, Katie. Open the door.”</p> + +<p>“Mother o’ Mercy,” she screeched, “it’s his ghost. +It’s his ghost, Louisa. Louisa, will ye hide me +somewhere, for God’s sake!”</p> + +<p>“Ghost yer gran’mother,” came a cracked, old +voice. “Get up an’ open the door will ye, till we +see what he wants.”</p> + +<p>“No, no—” began Katie’s voice again.</p> + +<p>Gypo put his shoulder to the door, burst the piece +of string that fastened it on the inside to a nail in +the wall, and flung the door open wide. He stalked +into the room.</p> + +<p>At first the whole room appeared to be a blue bank +of fog. Then the blue mist dissipated gradually. +The room assumed proportions. Things swam out +of the mist towards him gracefully, in the order of +their importance. First came the lamp. It was +placed on the black, wooden mantelpiece over the +fireplace. It was an ordinary tin paraffin lamp, +painted red. The chimney was three-parts black. +Next came the fireplace. There was a huge, open +grate, with a turf fire burning in it. The fire was +more like the remains of a funeral pyre, because the +ashes had accumulated for weeks. The flaming peat +sods lay stretched like fallen logs on the top of the +great pile of yellow ashes. Next came the bed, with +Louisa Cummins lying in one corner of it.</p> + +<p>The bed was so huge that it might be mistaken for +anything were it not supported by four thick +wooden posts and had a canopy over it, at the head, +after the fashion of those beds that are called in Irish +country places “Archbishops’ Beds.” The bed-clothes +were indescribable. Everything was pitched +on to the bed and everything stayed there. Louisa +Cummins lived in the bed most of the day. She had +done so for eight years, since she became “bedridden” +as the result of “injuries” received from the police, +one night she was arrested on a charge of trafficking +in immorality. She was quite strong and healthy. +She did all her work in bed. The blankets were +gathered about her bulky person in the far corner, +near the wall. In the other corner, Katie Fox’s +corner, there was a couple or so of tattered blankets. +The foot of the bed was heaped with junk of all sorts, +from a notched mug, out of which the old lady drank +her tea, to a statue of Saint Joseph that hung on +the bed-post, suspended from a thick nail by a rough, +knotted cord. The cord was around the statue’s +neck, in a noose. The statue was not suspended +there out of crude respect, as might be supposed. +It was hung there as a blasphemous protest against +the incompetence of the saint. Four years before +she had made a Novena to Saint Joseph, requesting a +cure for muscular rheumatism, and because her +request was not granted she hung up the statue by +the neck.</p> + +<p>When Gypo’s eyes found her through the fog, she +was hidden to the chin beneath a pile of blankets and +clothes of all sorts, up against the wall. She lay on +her side, with her white, shrivelled head ensconced +in a grey pillow, that had no case to cover it. The +feathers protruded from the pillow. The old woman’s +white hair was strewn about the pillow and the +bed-clothes, like strands of seaweed floating on the +surface of a shallow sea at low tide. Her mouth was +wide open, in an ogreish fashion, displaying red gums +and four yellow teeth, cropping up at unequal +distances along her jaws; four, crooked, yellow fangs.</p> + +<p>Her eyes alone showed life and intelligence. They +were small, fierce, blue eyes, blazing with cunning +and avarice.</p> + +<p>Her body, hidden beneath the clothes, resembled a +mountain that had been reduced to a shapeless pulp +by concussion.</p> + +<p>Gypo surveyed her without any emotion. Then he +looked around for Katie. He saw her standing in +the corner behind the door. She was still dressed +as he had met her in the public-house early in the +evening. But her dress had become dishevelled. +Her face had changed. It had changed in a strange +manner. It had lost the careworn, pinched expression. +Her eyes were no longer tired. Her face was +flushed and full. The skin was loose. The mouth +was firm, with a voluptuous softness in the lips. +Her eyes flashed bright. They had the calm +aggressiveness of healthy, energetic women, who are +passing from one success to another, the calm, aggressive +flash of satisfied desire and of vaulting ambition. +While, in spite of all that, her hands, clutching her +throat, trembled in apparent terror, in contradiction +to the repose and vitality of her face. Her feet, +too, danced spasmodically.</p> + +<p>“What’s the matter with ye, Katie?” said Gypo. +“What’s that ye were sayin’ about me ghost?”</p> + +<p>He spoke in a hoarse, morose whisper.</p> + +<p>“God!” exclaimed Katie.</p> + +<p>She took her hands away from her throat and +clasped them behind her back, with the movement of +one offered an objectionable thing. Then she fled to +the fire at great speed. She leaned her back against +the wall to the right of the fireplace and gaped at +Gypo. She motioned to him with her head.</p> + +<p>“Shut that door,” she said in a whisper. “Shut +the door and come in.”</p> + +<p>Gypo turned to the door silently and began to tie +the two pieces of broken string to fasten it once +more.</p> + +<p>“Where have ye ben?” she whispered. “O, Lord! +Ye put the heart crosswise in me.”</p> + +<p>Gypo tied the door and stalked slowly and quietly +to the hearth. He stood still, glanced towards the +old woman and then looked with open lips at Katie.</p> + +<p>“They’re after me, Katie,” he muttered with a +shudder.</p> + +<p>There was a silence. Gypo shuddered again and +sat down in front of the fire. He sat on the floor, +with his elbows resting on his knees, stretching out +his hands to the blaze.</p> + +<p>Katie looked at him with glittering eyes. She +stood against the wall, motionless. Her face had +very white beneath her crumpled red hat. Her eyes +glittered. Her upper lip was gathered together, +frilled.</p> + +<p>The old woman in the bed glanced from Gypo to +Katie and from Katie to Gypo. Her eyes danced +with merriment. She kept cuddling herself, as if in +an ecstasy of enjoyment.</p> + +<p>“What are ye talkin’ about?” said Katie at length.</p> + +<p>“Th’ Organization is after me,” he muttered without +looking at her. “Commandant Gallagher is goin’ +to plug me. I escaped outa the cell in the Bogey +Hole.”</p> + +<p>“What are they goin’ to plug ye for? In the name +o’ goodness, what are they goin’ to plug ye for?”</p> + +<p>Katie Fox’s voice was cold and passionless, but +Gypo did not notice. She had a queer, thin smile on +her lips, but Gypo did not look at her face. She had +a flashing light in her eyes as she spoke, but Gypo +had not seen it. He was staring dreamily into the +fire. He was tired out and sleepy. There was no +use keeping watch any longer. He was tired, tired, +tired. Tired and sleepy. What was the use of +keeping watch any longer? Sleep, sleep, sleep. Then +he would go straight to the south. He would rush +to the south with the wind, through all obstacles. +Sleep, sleep, sleep.</p> + +<p>“It doesn’t matter what they’re after me for,” he +muttered.</p> + +<p>There was another silence.</p> + +<p>Sleep, sleep, sleep.</p> + +<p>“They want to get me outa their way,” he +mumbled again. “But they’re not goin’ to get me. +Katie, I’m goin’ to flop here for the night. I’ll stay +till to-morrow night. Then I’m going south. Here’s +all the money I have.”</p> + +<p>He rummaged in his trousers pocket and brought +out on his palm four shillings and sixpence. He +handed it to her. She approached and held out her +right hand for it, with a mincing movement.</p> + +<p>“Gimme that money. Gimme that money,” +screamed the old woman from the bed. She +struggled to sit up.</p> + +<p>“You shut up, Louisa,” growled Gypo, half turning +towards her across his shoulder. “Shut up or I’ll +flatten ye.”</p> + +<p>The old woman collapsed, grinning. Then she +caught up a stick that lay beside her in the bed. She +shook the stick at Katie Fox.</p> + +<p>“She robs me, she robs me,” she wailed, in a thin, +cracked voice.</p> + +<p>“I’ll sleep here on the floor, Katie,” said Gypo. +“Hey, Katie. I’ll sleep here in front o’ the fire. +Katie, what’s the matter with ye? Why don’t ye +talk to me?” Katie burst into laughter. She had +sat down on a low stool to the left of the fire on +receiving the money. Now she jumped to her feet and +laughed. It was a queer, dry laugh. There was a +dreamy look in her eyes. She looked at the floor, +wrapped in thought.</p> + +<p>“Are ye drunk or what’s the matter with ye?” +grumbled Gypo.</p> + +<p>“There’s nothin’ at all the matter with me,” +murmured Katie dreamily, still looking at the floor.</p> + +<p>Then she drew in a deep breath and shrugged +herself. She became alive and energetic again, wide +awake, with piercing eyes. She began to talk at an +amazing speed, with her arms crossed on her breasts.</p> + +<p>“Sure, Gypo,” she said in a loud, hilarious voice, +“ye can sleep here till the crack o’ doom if ye like. +Sure enough, Connemara Maggie tole me about +Bartly Mulholland comin’ lookin’ for ye. She came +into Biddy Burke’s as drunk as a lord, an’ she outs +with a yarn about Bartly puttin’ a gun to ye’ head an’ +drivin’ ye up the street in front o’ him.”</p> + +<p>“Yer a liar, she didn’t,” growled Gypo, starting +slightly.</p> + +<p>“Maybe she didn’t say that exactly,” continued +Katie, “but——”</p> + +<p>“Did she give ye a quid I gave her to give ye?”</p> + +<p>“A quid? Did ye give her a quid for me? Well, +of all the liars! Well, of all the robbers! Of all +the dirty sons of pock-faced tailors! She takes the +cooked biscuit. Troth then, she only gev me ten bob +an’ I had to fight her for that. O’ course I’m sayin’ +nothin’ about things I might say a lot about, +but——”</p> + +<p>“Oh! less o’ yer gab,” growled Gypo, feeling +behind him on the floor with his hand. “I’m not in +humour for yer gab, Katie.”</p> + +<p>“Don’t lie on the floor,” she cried solicitously. +“Get into the bed. Lie in my corner. Don’t mind, +Louisa. The corner is mine. I can let who I like +int’ it. Louisa, if ye don’t lie still I’ll lave ye for +dead as sure as Our Lord was crucified. So I will. +Well what could ye expect? An’ I’m sayin’ nothin’ +now, Gypo, seein’ the position yer in, but it’s the +price o’ ye all the same. I hope ye don’t mind me +speakin’ me mind out. It’s the price o’ ye for lavin’ +them that were kind to ye, an’ throwin’ yer money +away on a strap like that. But sure me poor mother +used to say, Lord have mercy on her——”</p> + +<p>“Get outa here, get outa here,” screamed the old +woman, waving her stick.</p> + +<p>Gypo had thrown himself on the bed on his back. +The old lady began to beat him feebly about the +body with her stick. He took no notice of her. He +fumbled with the heap of tattered blankets, +arranging them about his legs.</p> + +<p>Katie Fox caught up the tongs and approached the +bed sideways, making furtive signs to the old woman, +urging her secretly to keep quiet.</p> + +<p>The old woman subsided, muttering something. +Katie went back to the fire and put down the tongs. +She continued to talk. She was rapidly becoming +more excited. Her eyes had now a look of insanity +in them. Her lips were constantly becoming +wreathed with smiles, after the manner of a lunatic +who is thinking of some demoniac buffoonery in his +muddled brain.</p> + +<p>“Though few people know it,” she cried arrogantly, +looking at the door, while she put a cigarette +in her mouth, “me poor mother was a born lady. +Put that in yer pipe, Louisa Cummins, and try an’ +smoke it. Yev given me dog’s abuse since I came +into yer rotten pigsty of a room, but still an’ all ye +know yer not fit to wipe me shoes. So I don’t give +a damn.”</p> + +<p>“Yerra, d’ye hear her, d’ye hear her?” croaked +Louisa Cummins.</p> + +<p>She began to laugh, making a noise in her throat +like a hen, that quaint, cunning, querulous sound, +that a hen makes at night, when disturbed during +her roosting hours.</p> + +<p>Gypo had arranged the clothes to his satisfaction. +The blankets covered his body up to his chest. His +eyes began to close. His little, round hat still +remained on his head, crushed down over his forehead. +There was a continual murmur in his brain. The +sounds, the talk, the smells about him no longer had +any meaning.</p> + +<p>Sleep, sleep, sleep.</p> + +<p>Danger, fear, everything was forgotten, but his +desire to sleep.</p> + +<p>Sleep, sleep, sleep.</p> + +<p>“Yerrah, is it an informer I’m lyin’ beside?” +screamed the old woman again, trying to rise with +fury. “Get out, get out. There’s blood on yer +hands. There’s——”</p> + +<p>“Lie down or I’ll brain ye,” hissed Katie, rushing +once more to the bed.</p> + +<p>With a weary sigh Gypo stretched out his left +hand and dropped it across the body of the old +woman. She subsided under the weight of the massive +hand. It lay across her, relaxed and tired. She +peered at it curiously, around the edge of her +blankets. Maybe she peered at it in terror. Who knows +what emotions were concealed behind that hideous +skull?</p> + +<p>Gypo did not look at her. His eyes were almost +closed. His nostrils were expanding and contracting +noiselessly.</p> + +<p>Sleep, sleep, sleep.</p> + +<p>Then a mad rush to the mountains.</p> + +<p>Sleep, sleep, sleep.</p> + +<p>“Blast it for a story,” cried Katie Fox, stamping +on the floor.</p> + +<p>She walked to the middle of the floor. Then she +folded her arms and stood with her legs wide apart +and her chest thrown out, gazing at the dim wall +with glittering eyes. She threw back her head and +laughed.</p> + +<p>“Amn’t I the fool?” she cried. “Oh! amn’t I the +fool? Me that could walk with the finest men in the +land! Do ye know that me gran’father was the +Duke o’ Clonliffey? Do ye know that? An’ me +mother was related to royalty on her father’s side. +Not to the King of England either, but to me bould +King o’ Spain, where they grow oranges an’ ye can +drink wine out of a well like water from the Shannon. +Sure it’s there where I was born an’ reared, in a +palace as big as the County Waterford, with +archbishops waitin’ at table on me, with red napkins on +their arms, an’ a rale lady——”</p> + +<p>“Yerrah, will ye hould yer whist,” piped the old +woman.</p> + +<p>She tried to brandish her stick and to disengage +herself from the hand that lay on top of her. But +the hand stiffened for a moment. She was pressed +down beneath it. Then the hand relaxed again.</p> + +<p>Sleep, sleep, sleep.</p> + +<p>Gypo’s eyes opened wide for a moment. Then he +closed them. Everything in his mind became a blur. +Nightmares stood massed in his brain ready to rush +in on the platform of his sleeping mind and carry on +their mad acting, as soon as his being soared off, +bound in sleep. He had already surrendered to +these nightmares.</p> + +<p>Sleep, sleep, sleep.</p> + +<p>Katie Fox looked at him cunningly for a moment. +Her face hardened and her eyes narrowed to points. +Then she glanced away again, towards the wall. Her +lower lip dropped. Her eyes distended. She puffed +twice at her cigarette. She began to talk again.</p> + +<p>“I could tell ye stories about them all, Gypo,” she +cried, waving her arm wildly in Gypo’s direction. +“I could tell ye, so I could, but what’s the use of +tellin’? Wha’? What’s the use of anythin’? An’ +Fr. Conroy refused to give me absolution. Well, he +can go to hell. I can get along without his +absolution. I’m not afraid o’ hell. Oh, Mother o’ +Mercy!” she cried, suddenly crossing herself; “what +have I said? What——”</p> + +<p>“Ha! Cross yersel’, cross yersel’,” croaked +Louisa Cummins. “But it’s no good to ye. Down +ye’ll go. Down ye’ll go. Ha, ha, ha!”</p> + +<p>“There’s a curse on me family, Louisa, since me +second cousin the Duchess of . . . of . . . of . . . +where is that place she was Duchess of? . . . I +forget it, although I was there often with me mother. +It’s somewhere out be Killiney. Well, she put a +curse on me family anyway. She used to have thirteen +monkeys sittin’ at the breakfast table with her.”</p> + +<p>“Yer a liar, yer a liar,” cried the old woman in a +sudden fury. “She couldn’t have thirteen monkeys. +She couldn’t have thirteen. It’s them drugs yer +takin’ that’s gone to yer head. Thirteen! Foo!”</p> + +<p>Gypo mumbled something in a tremendous whisper. +Both women looked at him. His lips were +moving, but the words were unintelligible. His +massive chest heaved up to an enormous extent and +collapsed again slowly, with a great outrush of +breath from the nostrils. His tawny face stood out +impassively in the glimmer of the firelight. It +looked sorrowful and oppressed.</p> + +<p>Sleep, sleep, sleep.</p> + +<p>He was wafted away by heavy gusts of sleep, to the +thunderous music of fantastic nightmares. Primeval +memories assumed form in the clouds of sleep that +pressed down about him. They assumed form and +shape, the shape of the beings that pursued him.</p> + +<p>Sleep, sleep, sleep.</p> + +<p>His strength was becoming unbound, dissolved in +sleep, loosened out and swaying limply on vapours +of sleep.</p> + +<p>Sleep, sleep, sleep.</p> + +<p>“D’ye know what I’m goin’ to tell ye, Louisa?” +continued Katie in a low, hushed voice. “When I’m +dead they’re goin’ to canonize me. Then I’ll have a +holy well out on the Malahide Road, an’ I’ll put a +spell on everybody I don’t like, an’ make them get +up in the middle o’ the night, an’ walk out barefoot +to the well, to drink three cupfuls o’ the holy water. +An’ never knowin’ that I’ll have it poisoned. This +is a queer world, Louisa, an’ ye’ll soon be out of it, +’cos yer——”</p> + +<p>“Sorra a fear o’ me,” croaked the old woman. +“I’ll dance on yer grave. Ye little rip o’ divilment. +Yer not the first nor the fifth that has come into me +house this ten years an’ gone the same road. No yer +not. An’ ye won’t be the last. Oho! Ye all got +pretty faces. Ye all get the fine strong men to kiss +ye. But old, dirty-faced Louisa Cummins ’ll dance +on yer graves. She dances on yer graves. So she +does. Now what are ye doin’ with him? Are ye +puttin’ yer evil spell on him? Informer an’ all that +he is, I’ll not let ye put yer evil spell on him. I’ll not +let ye do that. Go away from the bed.”</p> + +<p>Katie had come to the bed and had bent down with +her left ear to Gypo’s face, listening to his breathing. +She raised her face to look at the old woman.</p> + +<p>“He’s dead asleep,” she whispered with a smile.</p> + +<p>“Well? Is that queer?”</p> + +<p>“Don’t wake him while I’m gone, Louisa.”</p> + +<p>“Where are ye goin’?”</p> + +<p>“Mind yer own business, Louisa. I’m givin’ ye +warnin’.”</p> + +<p>“Is it to the polis yer goin’?”</p> + +<p>“Don’t talk so loud. It’s not to the polis I’m +goin’. I’m just goin’ out.”</p> + +<p>“Ha! Yer goin’ to inform on him ye rip o’ +divilment. Yer goin’ to inform on him.”</p> + +<p>“It’s nothin’ o’ the kind. Isn’t he an informer? +Don’t make a noise. Don’t waken him or they’ll fill +ye full o’ lead when they come. I’m givin’ ye this +warnin’. Shut up.”</p> + +<p>She moved backwards to the door, with her hand +held out threateningly towards the old woman. The +old woman looked after her. Her mouth was wide +open. Her eyes roamed about. Then Katie +disappeared out the door. Her shoes went tapping +down the stairs. The banisters creaked. The room +was still, except for Gypo’s heavy breathing.</p> + +<p>The old woman remained motionless for several +seconds, looking towards the door. Then she groped +for her stick and tried to rouse Gypo with it. But +Gypo’s arm still lay across her body holding it down. +In his sleep it stiffened and held her down. She +peered at it and frowned. She dropped the stick and +smiled.</p> + +<p>“Ha!” she gurgled, “she’s gone to inform on ye, +me fine boyo. They’ll soon be here after ye. Trust +a woman, trust a devil. She’ll be the ruin o’ ye, me +bould warrior. An’ many’s the fine strappin’ woman +from yer own country would give her two eyes for a +night with ye. An’ here ye lie, asleep an’ weak, with +the weariness o’ death on ye. Ha! The divil mend +the lot o’ ye. Ha! There ye are now. Ha! +There ye are now an’ be damned to ye. Ha! Ha!”</p> + +<p>Sleep, sleep, sleep.</p> + +<p>Sleep and strange dreams.</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter" id="ch17"> + +<h2>Chapter XVII</h2> + +<p>At sixteen minutes to six, Mulholland +rushed down the stairs into the Bogey Hole, +shouting in a hushed whisper all the way:</p> + +<p>“Commandant, Commandant, we have him, we +have him!”</p> + +<p>Gallagher rushed to the stairway. He found +Mulholland grasping the wall with one hand, with his +cap in the other hand, panting, with perspiration +rolling down his cheeks in drops.</p> + +<p>“It was Katie Fox,” he gasped. “She came +runnin’ down Mount William Road: Charlie Carrol +headed her off. She tole him Gypo was up in her +room, in bed. No. 61 Mount William Crescent. +Captain Burton has got the house surrounded. He +sent me up for orders.”</p> + +<p>“Katie Fox?” said Gallagher. “I thought she +was——”</p> + +<p>“She’s mad with dope.”</p> + +<p>“I see. Double back and tell Burton I’ll be down +immediately. Don’t move till I arrive.”</p> + +<p>“All right, Commandant.”</p> + +<p>Mulholland raced up the stairs again. Gallagher +rushed back to the witnesses’ room. Mary +McPhillip had fallen into a doze. He roused her.</p> + +<p>“Come on, Mary,” he whispered. “We are going +now. We found him.”</p> + +<p>“Who? What? Jesus, Mary and Joseph! Who +did you find?”</p> + +<p>“The informer. Gypo Nolan. We found him at +61 Mount William Crescent. I am going there now. +Come along. Then I’ll leave you home.”</p> + +<p>She was waking up gradually, frightened and +rubbing her eyes. Gallagher fidgeted excitedly, +trying to get her to her feet.</p> + +<p>“What time is it?” she asked.</p> + +<p>“A quarter to six.”</p> + +<p>“Heavens above! Mother will be gone to Mass +before I get home.”</p> + +<p>“What does it matter?”</p> + +<p>“Of course it matters. I was to have gone with her +this morning. For Frankie.”</p> + +<p>“Where does she go to Mass?”</p> + +<p>“Mount William Crescent.”</p> + +<p>“Well, we’re going there, too. You can go into the +chapel and meet her there.”</p> + +<p>“Why? What’s at Mount William Crescent?”</p> + +<p>She was fully awake now and had got to her feet, +wild eyed.</p> + +<p>Gallagher got angry and swore. He stamped his +feet.</p> + +<p>“Come on quickly. I have no time. I tell you +the informer has been found. He is at Mount +William Crescent. I’m going down there. Come +along.”</p> + +<p>“You’re going to murder him,” she gasped, with +her bosom heaving.</p> + +<p>“Murder be damned!” cried Gallagher. “We’re +going to wipe him out.”</p> + +<p>“You’re a beast. You’re not going to murder him, +not while I can prevent it.”</p> + +<p>She rushed from the room. With a fierce oath he +rushed after her. He caught her at the foot of the +stairs. The sentries rushed up. She kept screaming +and striking out with her clawing hands.</p> + +<p>“Keep her here,” he hissed. “Don’t let her out on +any account for an hour. Then let her off and get +home. Good-bye.” He looked fiercely into Mary’s +eyes. His face was ashen with rage. “We spare +neither man nor woman. Remember that.”</p> + +<p>Then he rushed up the stairs.</p> + +<p>“Murderer, murderer,” she cried after him, until +they stuffed her mouth.</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter" id="ch18"> + +<h2>Chapter XVIII</h2> + +<p>Shapeless figures dancing on tremendous +stilts, on the brink of an abyss, to the sound of +rocks being tumbled about below, in the darkness, +everything immense and dark and resounding, +everything without shape or meaning, gloom and +preponderance, yawning, yawning abysses full of +frozen fog, cliffs gliding away when touched, leaving +no foundation, an endless wandering through space, +through screeching winds and . . . crash.</p> + +<p>Gypo awoke with a snort, perspiring with his +nightmare, terrified.</p> + +<p>The old woman had at last awakened him by +squeezing his nostrils between her fingers. He sat +up, looked about him and saw her. He saw her +weird and pale, with her white hair streaming. He +was going to strike her in terror, thinking her an +ogre from his dreams, when she spoke.</p> + +<p>“They’re after ye,” she hissed. “They’re after ye. +They’re on the stairs.”</p> + +<p>He listened. There was nothing. Not a sound. +What? Just a whistle of the wind on the roof. Ha! +Something creaked. Was it the bed? No. Trup, +trip, r-r-rip. Somebody had slipped on the roof.</p> + +<p>Gypo bounded from the bed to the floor in one +leap. He stood motionless, crouching forward, +panting, with dilated nostrils. A sound came on the +stairs outside the door. Somebody on the stairs said: +“Hist!” Then utter silence. Gypo stood transfixed, +still wet with the perspiration of his nightmare.</p> + +<p>Then he moved noiselessly to the fireplace and +picked up the tongs. It slipped from his fingers as +he rose and rattled to the stone hearth. He whirled +about to the door with an oath. Simultaneously the +door was flung wide with a bang. Three flashes of +light came before his eyes from the doorway. As he +rushed headlong towards them there was a deafening +roar. Three men had fired together at him. Then +there was chaos.</p> + +<p>As he dashed across the floor to the landing, he felt +a sting like frost-bite in his thigh. Then he saw +their terror-stricken, mad faces. He recognized two +of them, Mulholland and Hackett. The third man +was Curley. When he closed with them and felt his +giant hands on the soft warm flesh of their bodies he +breathed a sigh of satisfaction.</p> + +<p>Somebody fired again, unintentionally, in the +struggling mass on the landing. It must have been +Curley. For his thin voice screamed querulously +after the explosion, “God have mercy on my soul!” +Gypo smelt burning under his armpit as his head +was bent down to mobilize his spine strength.</p> + +<p>Then the banister gave way with a crash of breaking +wood. The four men went down, without a cry. +Their fists thudded with dull sounds as they struck +blindly at one another in the dark.</p> + +<p>They fell on the next landing. Gypo and Mulholland +were on top. Mulholland had his right knee +on Curley’s back. He was cool with the mania of +death-terror. He bared his teeth and raised his +pistol to fire into Gypo’s open mouth. But Gypo +rammed him with his monstrous head.</p> + +<p>Mulholland was hurled backwards like a gymnast, +head over heels, heels over head. He brought up on +a black sheepskin carpet outside a tenement door in +the far corner. He lay with his knees to his chin, +perfectly quiet. The pistol shot splashed through +the whitewashed woodwork of the ceiling. The +pistol jingled to the floor.</p> + +<p>Gypo scraped around on his hands and knees in +the darkness. He groped for the two men who lay +beneath him. He felt their rumps, their backs, their +thighs, in a wide sweep of his hands. Their bodies +were lax and soft, like the carcasses of dead things. +One of them sighed and turned over. Gypo rose to +his feet. Without looking anywhere he rushed for +the stairs and leaped down.</p> + +<p>Half-way down the last flight he paused and tried +to think. But he drew his hand over his eyes and +shook his head.</p> + +<p>“It’s no use. It’s no use,” he said aloud.</p> + +<p>There was a great din of disturbed people in the +house above him.</p> + +<p>He reached the hallway. Through the open door +he could see the street outside. The dawn had come. +The air was grey, cold, empty and silent. He +marched steadily to the door. His body was very +cold. And his mind was dead. Cold and dead. +Dead and cold.</p> + +<p>A stream of red blood trickled down over his right +boot from the wound in his thigh. Another stream +trickled along his right ribs. He did not know. He +was cold and dead. Dead and very cold.</p> + +<p>He stopped in the doorway. His eyes expanded. +A last passion made his body rigid. He roared. He +had seen Gallagher standing against the church railings +across the road, with his hands in his raincoat +pockets, smiling insolently.</p> + +<p>Gypo descended the five steps to the street at one +bound. Then as his right foot landed on the pavement +there was a rapid succession of shots. They +came from all sides. Three of them entered his +body. Without bringing his left foot to the pavement +he jumped again into the air, with his two hands +reaching out and his face turned upwards, in the +earnest attitude of a symbolic dancer.</p> + +<p>He hurtled out into the street, hopping on staggering +feet, writhing and contorting. Then he fell to +his knees. He groaned and fell prone.</p> + +<p>He struggled up again, looking wildly around him, +holding his bowels with his hands. Gallagher was +there in front of him, smiling dreamily now, with +distant, melancholy eyes.</p> + +<p>Gallagher shrugged himself and turned away +sharply to the right.</p> + +<p>Gypo wanted to go after him. But he no longer +knew why he wanted to go after him. His eyes were +getting dim. His body was cold. Cold and dead.</p> + +<p>Grinding his teeth he got to his feet. He threw +out his chest, shrugged his shoulders and walked +ahead like a drunken man. He walked slowly +straight ahead, straight, stiff, swinging his limp hands +slowly.</p> + +<p>He walked through the iron gateway of the church, +along the concrete path to the door. He had to +crawl up the steps on his knees. Blood was coming +up his throat.</p> + +<p>Reverently he dipped his hand into the holy-water +font. He wet his hand to the wrist. He tried to +take off his hat in order to cross himself. His hand +pawed about his skull, but his fingers were already +dead. They could not grip the tattered hat. He +tried to cross himself. Impossible. His hand could +not reach his forehead. It went up half-way and +then fell lifelessly. It was a ton weight. He strode +to the left. He staggered through a narrow Roman +door. He was in the church.</p> + +<p>It was a great high room, curtained with silence. +At the altar, away in the lamp-lit dimness of the +dawn, a priest was saying Mass. The droning sound +of the words came down the silent church, peaceful, +laden with the quaint odour of mystery, the mysterious +calm of souls groping after infinite things. All +round the church the people knelt with bent heads +and faces wrapt in prayer for infinite things. Sad, +haggard, hungry faces wrapt in the contemplation of +infinity, wafted out of the sordidness of their lives +by the contemplation of infinite things.</p> + +<p>Peace and silence and the quaint odour of mystery +and of infinite things.</p> + +<p>Deep, long, soft words murmured endlessly in a +silent place. Mystery and the phantoms of death +breathing faint breaths.</p> + +<p>Mercy and pity. Pity and peace. Pity and +mercy and peace, three eternal gems in the tabernacle +of life, burnished ceaselessly with human dust.</p> + +<p>From dust to dust.</p> + +<p>Gypo’s eyes roamed around the church. His eyes +were very dim. There was a blur before them. He +thought he saw somebody whom he knew. He was +not sure. Yes. They were looking at him. There, +on the left, on the other side of the aisle. It was a +long way off. What? Frankie McPhillip’s mother!</p> + +<p>He set out, with a great sigh, towards her. He fell +in a heap in front of her seat. He raised his head to +her face. He saw her face, a great, white, sad face, +with tears running down the fat cheeks. He struggled +to his knees in the aisle before her. People +were rushing to him talking. He waved his hands +to keep them away. It was very dark. He swallowed +the blood in his mouth and he cried out in a +thick whisper:</p> + +<p>“Mrs. McPhillip, ’twas I informed on yer son +Frankie. Forgive me. I’m dyin’.”</p> + +<p>“I forgive ye,” she sighed in a sad, soft whisper. +“Ye didn’t know what ye were doin’.”</p> + +<p>He shivered from head to foot and bowed his head.</p> + +<p>He felt a great mad rush of blood to his head. A +great joy filled him. He became conscious of +infinite things.</p> + +<p>Pity and mercy and peace and the phantoms of +death breathing faint breaths. Mercy and pity and +peace.</p> + +<p>“Lemme go!” he cried, struggling to his feet.</p> + +<p>He stood up straight, in all the majesty of his +giant stature, towering over all, erect and majestic, +with his limbs like pillars, looking towards the altar.</p> + +<p>He cried out in a loud voice:</p> + +<p>“Frankie, yer mother has forgiven me.”</p> + +<p>Then with a gurgling sound he fell forward on his +face. His hat rolled off. Blood gushed from his +mouth. He stretched out his limbs in the shape of +a cross. He shivered and lay still.</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="section" id="transcriber"> + +<h2>Transcriber’s Note</h2> + +<p>This transcription follows the text of the edition published by +Alfred A. Knopf in 1925. However, the following words have been +changed from the original text to correct what are believed to be +unambiguous printing errors.</p> + +<ul> + <li>“<i>recontre</i>” was changed to “<i>rencontre</i>” (Chapter I).</li> + <li>“Your as bad” was changed to “You’re as bad” (Chapter III).</li> + <li>“stood at east” was changed to “stood at ease” (Chapter III).</li> + <li>“awkard” was changed to “awkward” (Chapter IV).</li> + <li>“ridicul-ulous” was changed to “ridiculous” (Chapter VII).</li> + <li>“It it” was changed to “Is it” (Chapter VIII).</li> + <li>“its less” was changed to “it’s less” (Chapter XI).</li> + <li>“for out” was changed to “far out” (Chapter XI).</li> + <li>“sang into” was changed to “sank into” (Chapter XI).</li> + <li>“a think like” was changed to “a thing like” (Chapter XII).</li> + <li>“banis-ister” was changed to “banister” (Chapter XVI).</li> + <li>Five occurrences of mismatched quotation marks were repaired.</li> +</ul> + +</div> + +<div style='text-align:center'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75583 ***</div> +</body> +</html> + diff --git a/75583-h/images/cover.jpg b/75583-h/images/cover.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..5dad697 --- /dev/null +++ b/75583-h/images/cover.jpg diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..fc3e2ce --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #75583 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/75583) |
