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

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