Devlin frowned, puzzled. ‘I don’t see why not.’
‘Very well. This is my proposal, then. Instead of trying to do clever underwater tricks with hooks and harness, we make quite sure that our bomb is lodged in the right place by converting our submarine boat into the biggest and most devastating infernal machine in history. In other words, we stuff the boat with dynamite-including Brother Sargent’s estimable bomb, which in these circumstances will serve as the detonator-and anchor it below the pier. When it explodes, the pier and everyone on it will be blown to bits, and probably half Gravesend as well.’
‘Cripes, that’s brilliant!’ crowed Millar. ‘It can’t fail!’
‘Destroy the submarine boat?’ said Devlin, disbelievingly. ‘It’s taken a year to assemble it.’
‘I appreciate your sentiments, Brother,’ said Carse. ‘It’s a fine piece of engineering. But it was built for one occasion. This is not the kind of exercise one repeats at intervals. Once the job is done, we can never hope to take the British by surprise in the same way again. Far better that the thing is destroyed in action than allowed to survive for the river-police to track down in the intensive search they will certainly mount after the operation. This way is safer for us all.’
‘I don’t think that is altogether true.’ Rossanna had spoken, her voice more controlled and deliberate than before.
‘Why not?’ demanded Carse.
‘Because one of us at least will have to pilot the boat into position under the pier. How is that person going to escape?’
‘That’s a fact!’ said Devlin. ‘If the boat stays down there, someone has to be inside it.’ Even as he spoke the words, their full implication dawned on him. His eyes bulged in horror. ‘I’m the only one who knows how to pilot the thing!’
Carse raised his palm in restraint. ‘Let us not sully the dignity of our meeting by effusions of panic, Brother. There is no reason why we should not conduct our discussion in a civilised fashion. One does not wish to be put into the position of blackballing another member of the Clan, but as Chairman I have my duty to do and I shall certainly not shirk it, if free speech is threatened. I was about to come to the most interesting part of my proposal: the identity of our candidate for assassination.’ He paused dramatically. ‘At this moment there is an ocean-going yacht, the
‘Moses!’ ejaculated Cribb, unable to restrain himself. ‘Would one of them by any chance be Mrs Lillie Langtry?’
Carse produced his approximation of a smile. ‘No, sir. Mrs Langtry is at present on tour in America. But I gather from your inquiry that you have my drift. The final member of the party is due to go aboard the
‘The Prince of Wales?’ said Devlin, half in horror.
‘Albert Edward, the heir to the throne of England,’ said Carse. ‘ “Bertie” to his friends, “Tum-Tum”, one is told, to his intimates. He is to be our victim.’
‘Magnificent!’ declared Millar.
‘A suitable sacrifice to the cause of republicanism,’ said Carse. ‘And justification for all our efforts. Perhaps you can now understand why there must be no possibility of failure. We
There was silence. Everyone was stunned by the enormity of what had been suggested.
After an interval, Rossanna said, ‘I should like to consult my father.’ She took McGee’s hands and engaged in what appeared to be an intensive bout of finger-talk. ‘Father praises the audacity of the plan,’ she presently told Carse, ‘but he still wishes to know how you propose to get the submarine boat into position.’
Carse nodded. ‘A reasonable inquiry. First, I shall put a question to Brother Devlin. I believe, sir, that you have piloted the boat on all its trials so far. Is that true?’
‘Yes,’ Devlin gloomily agreed.
‘And has anyone else accompanied you?’
‘The late Brother Malone, rest his soul,’ said Devlin. ‘And Miss McGee, and her father, on different occasions.’
‘Good. And is it a difficult manoeuvre to cause the submarine boat to dive and travel underwater to a stated destination?’
‘If you could see clearly under water, it would be child’s play,’ said Devlin. ‘The mechanics are perfectly simple. But the Thames is full of impurities, as you know, so we have to steer by coming to the surface at intervals. It’s a process known as “porpoising”.’
‘How appropriate! But the mechanics, you say, are simple. Once you had got within sight of the pier by means of porpoising, you could hand the wheel with confidence to any one of us for the last submersion-first leaving the boat yourself and swimming to a convenient launch-is that so?’
The persecuted look lifted miraculously from Devlin’s face. ‘Why, yes! Anyone could take the boat for the last few yards.’
‘Thank you,’ said Carse, with the air of a barrister who has elicited a vital piece of information from a witness. ‘And now I should like to put a point to all present. It is this: do you agree that the arrival of the Prince of Wales tomorrow morning on Gravesend pier presents Ireland with an opportunity unparalleled in its history?’
‘Jesus, yes!’ said Millar, leading the chorus of assent.
‘In that case, then,’ said Carse, allowing a little emotion to enter his voice, ‘is it too much to ask that one of you should volunteer to steer that submarine boat to its place below the pier, and so join the ranks of those who have laid down their lives for Ireland?’
‘The martyrs,’ said Millar with reverence. ‘Wolfe Tone, Thomas Russell, Robert Emmet-’
‘Stow it!’ said Carse, irritably. He looked hopefully round the table, but nobody was volunteering yet to swell the ranks of the martyrs. ‘It seems to me,’ he went on, ‘that this is an opportunity that might be seized by a patriot whose life in recent years has been wholly dedicated to the fulfilment of such a moment of history. I refer, Sister McGee, to your father.’
‘No!’ said Rossanna emphatically.
‘I should prefer to hear from Brother McGee himself,’ said Carse. ‘Nobody appreciates more than I the courage of our brother in carrying through his mission in spite of his appalling injuries. Would he see it fail at this stage for want of somebody to lay down his life for Ireland?’
‘He has suffered enough!’ protested Rosanna, on her feet.
‘With his injuries, Sister, he will have nothing to live for when this work is done.’
‘You can’t ask him!’ shouted Rossanna defiantly. ‘I shan’t tell you his answer! You can’t make me!’
Carse turned to Millar. ‘Take hold of this hysterical woman and eject her from the meeting. We shall obtain Brother McGee’s answer without her.’
‘No!’ screamed Rossanna. ‘Keep away from me!’ She gripped the edge of the table.
Millar moved quickly and with a notable lack of gallantry. Before Rossanna had a chance to turn from the table he was behind her. He gripped the open collar of her dress at each side of her neck and wrenched the bodice apart, pulling the sides down over her shoulders to pinion her arms. Then he fastened his left hand over her mouth to silence her screams. A second later, he screamed himself and jerked it away, dripping blood where her teeth had punctured his flesh. In fury, he raised his clenched right fist above his shoulder to strike her down, but found it grasped and held by the person he knew as Sargent. ‘What the bloody hell-?’ he shouted.
‘Steady now!’ said Cribb. ‘We want no violence, Brother.’
‘He’s right,’ said Carse. ‘Sit down, Millar. Leave it to him.’
Millar resumed his seat, clutching his wounded hand, leaving Cribb to face the wild-eyed Rossanna, her hands ready like claws to make their mark on anyone who came too close. The shreds of her bodice hung about her arms, leaving gaping areas of camisole and stays, which added to the general savagery of the spectacle.
‘Will you come outside, Rossanna?’ asked Cribb, as mildly as if they were both at a ball.
‘Not while Father remains here.’
‘In that case I must. .’ He dived boldly forward in mid-conversation, burying his right shoulder into the folds of
