“All right, Bob. Report back later.”
3
“Hallo, Tom; come and have a bit of a jaw,” said Lawley. He had spotted Tom Martin as the latter was crossing from the canteen to the men’s huts, and Martin replied, “O.K.,” and fell in behind the overseer. In Lawley’s office, Martin asked: “Any complaints, boss?”
“Not so far as work’s concerned. The job’s going fine, but what’s this I hear about you and Butler packing up on us?”
“Well, I was going to tell you: they’re wanting men on the extensions to Heysham Harbour. The pay’s no better than here and hours are longer, but at least there’s a bit of life when you have done for the day. This blasted wilderness is all right for a bit, then it gets you down.”
“Yes, I know all about that, but we’re nearly through with this job. If you stick it out, you can be entered on the company’s permanent pay roll and I’m looking out for another gang leader. You’ve pulled your weight here, Tom. I’d recommend you and the next job’s at Leverstone. However, just think it over. Don’t go off to Heysham all in a hurry: that job won’t last long. Now there was another thing I wanted to talk to you about; weren’t you and Reilley buddies?”
“More or less. What’s this about Reilley?”
“You heard the rumour Flanagan put round that Reilley was the chap who escaped from Dartmoor?”
“Flanagan was a bloody liar. But why dig up that silly bilge?”
“You can guess, Tom; you’re not lacking. You heard the story Turner told this afternoon?”
“Oh, my gawd. . . . You mean the camp’s going to be lousy with cops?”
“They’ll come up, they’re Sound to. One thing, we’ve got this afternoon taped. I know that none of our chaps was over the fell, taking pot shots at farmers.”
“That’s a bit of luck,” said Martin. “Most days anybody might have been anywhere. Now you’re never going to fill the police up with Flanagan’s ruddy lies about Reilley?”
“Not if you can prove it was only lies.”
“Easy,” said Martin. “When was it that Dartmoor bloke broke prison? Sometime in January, wasn’t it?”
“Aye, the middle of January.”
“Well, that’s that. Reilley was working on the Globe Electric job all January. I know, I was on that job, too. They laid a new road from the factory to railhead, at Cowholme junction—saved them a pull of twenty miles over the fell roads to get their stuff on the railway. I went there from Ringway, where we’d been laying a new runway. Reilley was on the Globe job when I got there at the new year, so was Taffy Jones. We all came on here together early February, when we’d seen the notices you put out, unskilled labour required—that’s us.”
“Well, thanks for telling me about Reilley,” said Lawley. “While we’re talking about unskilled labour, I’ve often wondered why chaps like you didn’t learn a trade and cash in on the wages a skilled man gets.”
“Learn a trade—and what happens then? Join a union, get a card before you can take a job anywhere. Kowtow to Union rules, what you can do, what you can’t, be bossed by the shop stewards. Industry’s lousy with Union regulations, gives me the sick. While a bloke’s only using a shovel, shifting this, that and the other, no one bothers him with regulations. You can dig in a garden or shift muck from a cow house and no one cares how long you work and what tools you do it with. I like my freedom; I like working in the open and no ruddy shop stewards watching you at a flicking conveyor belt.”
“Well, it’s lucky for us there are other blokes like you: casual labour, as they say. Now see here, Tom; you’ve put me wise about Reilley. Do you know anything about Flanagan?”
“No, and nobody else does either, except that he’s a dirty dog.”
“I often wondered why he came here. He hadn’t got the guts to do a heavy job like this.”
“You’re not the only one who wondered. I’ll tell you my guess, but it’s only a guess. He came here because he knew explosives were used when we struck rock. He knew if he could lay hands on detonators and suchlike he could market them to the I.R.A.—or that’s my guess. But he found this outfit was too well managed for him to get away with it.”
“Why did he hate Reilley?”
“I think Reilley knew a bit about Flanagan. I bet Flan was on the crook since he was first breeched—but don’t go putting the cops on his trail. Once you start on that line, there’s not a chap in any of the gangs who won’t pack up on you, including yours truly. The minute the cops get an idea we’re a blooming lot of criminals or ex-convicts, they’ll be after us for ever and always. Leave it alone, boss—or you’ll be left alone yourself to finish the job without any gangers.”
“Keep your hair on,” said Lawley. “I’m no more keen on having the police up here than you are.”
Chapter Seven
“GOOD DAY, Mr. Macdonald,” said John Staple. “I’m right glad to see you; come inside. ’Tis a small house, but cosy and homely, and I’m right comfortable here. I’ve got a few beasts and a bit of land—only six acres and the garden—but it’s enough to keep me interested. Sit in the corner there, you’ll mind that chair, you always liked it. So you’ve found a spot of trouble up in the hills over yonder?”
“We have indeed,” said Macdonald. He liked old John Staple and knew him to be trustworthy. “News travels apace in these parts,” he added.
“Aye; the story’s all over the valley and I don’t wonder at it Now can you tell me about Mr. Brough? Is he in a bad way, as they say?”
“He’s a sick man, but it wasn’t only
