“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 collarbone. “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 tonight 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.
