XI
In the Bogey Hole rats scurried about, careless of the sentry who tramped up and down, from end to end of the long stone passage, with his rubber-heeled boots sounding loudly in the cavernous silence. Drops of water gathered slowly on the stone ceilings and then fell with soft, empty splashes to the stone floors. Except for the scurrying of the rats, the falling of the water and the footfalls of the sentry, there was silence.
The Bogey Hole, in which the Revolutionary Organization were about to hold their inquiry into the cause of the death of Francis Joseph McPhillip, had once been the wine cellars of a nobleman. Above it the ruins of the house still remained. But everybody had long since forgotten the name of the owner in the district. The hallway of the house was choked with rubbish. The two top stories had fallen in. Only a few rooms remained in a crumbling state. Children played in them and parties of men played cards for money there on Sundays. That’s all. But the wine cellars underneath were often used by the Revolutionary Organization as a meeting-place and for other purposes.
A wide stone stairway led down into the cellars from the rear of the hallway. There was a wide passage running straight through the cellars and rooms opened off the passage on either side. In the first room to the left of the stairway six men stood about. They were the guard, seven men including the man who was on sentry. They stood about the room, or sat on the floor by the wall, with their revolvers strapped outside their raincoats. A lighted lantern was placed on the floor in the centre of the room. The faces that were touched by the lantern light were haggard and pale. Farther down on the same side of the passage, a larger room was prepared for the inquiry. A small table had been placed in it. A horse blanket covered the table. There were several small forms there and a little “bedside table” to the right of the main table, with a deck chair behind it. A big lamp, turned on full, hung from the ceiling. It lit up the room so that the dampness on the walls glittered. Two tall, lean men stood by the entrance to the room, one on either side of it.
Across the passage, still farther away from the stairway, the Rat Mulligan was sitting on a form in another room. His three guards sat opposite him on a form. They had their revolvers in their hands.
All along the passage the light of the big lamp penetrated. It reached up three of the steps of the stairway. Beyond that and about the roof of the passage, there was pitch darkness.
At the far end of the passage the outlines of a door could be seen. It was a heavy oaken door, very old. Formerly it was the door of an airtight room where special wines were kept. These wines were let down into the room from the garden. A trap-door opened off the garden into the room. The barrels were let down through this trap-door. Now, however, the room was used by the Revolutionary Organization for prisoners. A square hole had been made in the upper part of the door to let in air, so that the prisoners would not suffocate.
It was three minutes past one. Three men, dressed in long raincoats and soft hats, with masks over their eyes, came down the stone stairway. They were immediately challenged by the sentry. One of them mumbled a word casually. The sentry saluted. They walked quickly down the passage and entered the inquiry room. The sentries at the door stood to attention as they entered. They sat down. One of them, he who sat in the middle, threw an attaché case on the table and yawned. They all lit cigarettes and began to talk in whispers, with bored, sleepy voices, hardly opening their lips. They were the three members of the Central Executive Committee who had been appointed as judges for the inquiry.
At twenty minutes past one Commandant Dan Gallagher came down the stairs with Mary McPhillip. She wore a dark woolen overcoat buttoned to the throat and belted at the waist. Gallagher was dressed as before. She looked around her in a frightened manner. Gallagher had to urge her along with his right hand that held her arm. When the sentry uttered his challenge she stopped dead, gasped, and put her hands to her lips. Gallagher began to whisper to reassure her. Trembling and clutching at his arm, she was led by him into the inquiry room. He put her sitting on a form and went over to talk to the members of the Executive Committee, who had not got to their feet or taken any notice whatsoever.
At twenty-five minutes past one, a hoarse voice was heard at the top of the stairs, yelling the words of a ribald song, while another voice, a hushed one, angrily expostulated. Then there was a savage grunt, an oath, the sound of a heavy body crashing into something that broke with a brittle crack and then Gypo came down the stairs. He came down, slipping on his back, with his arms and legs stretched out, groping at the air. He landed at the bottom with a thud. He sat up stiffly. Then he broke out into an amazing peal of laughter.
Men rushed at him from all directions with their revolvers drawn, as quickly as if they had been waiting a long time anxiously for his appearance in that strange manner. But when they saw him sitting there laughing, with his little tattered round hat fallen forward over his forehead, they halted and put their revolvers back into their holsters.
“Hello, boys,” cried Gypo. “Here I am. What are ye lookin’ at? I’ll fight any six men that ever walked this earth. Who’s first?”
He jerked himself to his feet with one sudden
