As he wiped his mouth on his sleeve at the counter an insane idea struck him, such was his eagnerness 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 thunderstorm, 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.
