Two shots had thundered through the hole as he cleared it. They were after him. He snorted with fright. For a moment he stood still, confused by the din of voices and the rushing feet. Then he darted away headlong through the rubbish towards the house, ten yards away. His only escape lay that way. He entered the house at a bound, through a hole in the kitchen wall. He cleared the kitchen in two strides. He was in the hallway. Flash, flash, bang, bang. Two more shots. His fist floored a tall man. He rammed a second with his head. He floundered through the hall. Bang, bang. They whizzed closely past his right side. He slipped on the flags of the hall as he tried to wheel towards the right wall. He came to his hands and knees. As he rose again a man threw himself upon him, firing as he did so, so closely that Gypo smelt the explosion that flashed blindingly by his ear. Missed again. They closed, grappling one another’s bodies, with groping, shifting paws. They tumbled in the doorway. They both rose. Gypo loosed one arm and struck. The other man collapsed without a sound. Gypo dropped him. He fell on his back. It was the Dart Flynn.
Gypo grunted, bounded to his feet and wheeled to the right, into the open air. With a gurgling laugh, he bounded away into the darkness. He was away, swallowed by the night.
XV
When Gallagher heard the first shot, he started to his feet angrily. He thought that his orders had been disobeyed and that they had shot the prisoner before taking him to the mountains. But even as he stood up, his anger changed to terror. He heard the rushing of feet and the babble of shouting voices, calling excitedly, in a panic:
“He’s escaped. He’s escaped.”
“The stairs. The stairs. Up the stairs, quick.”
Mary McPhillip screamed. Gallagher did not heed her. For three seconds his body was numbed with fear. He could not move a muscle. His lips blubbered. He was like an exhausted man about to have a heart attack. He stood unstably, like an uprooted tree, balancing for its fall. Mary jumped up and clung to him. He did not look at her. Then Mulholland rushed in. He was livid with fear.
“He’s escaped, Commandant,” he gasped; “he’s gone.”
Then Gallagher shook himself violently, thrusting Mary from him rudely. Uttering a volley of almost inarticulate oaths, he drew his pistol and grasped Mulholland by the throat. Mulholland yelled and struggled downwards to his knees.
“Don’t shoot me, Commandant,” he whined. “It wasn’t my fault. That man is a devil out of hell. There’s a spell on him. Don’t fire for the love of God.”
“Damn you and God,” snarled Gallagher, hurling him away.
He rushed out into the hall.
“After him,” he yelled. “After him. After him.”
There was nobody to take any notice of him. Everybody was on the street in pursuit of Gypo, except the sentry, who stood uncertainly in the doorway of the empty cell, with his pistol in his hand and his cap turned backwards, terrified, gaping at Gallagher.
Then a rush of feet came on the stairs. Four men were coming down carrying Flynn between them.
“Who is that?” cried Gallagher.
“It’s Flynn, Commandant,” whispered one.
“His jaw is broken in a jelly,” whispered another.
They arrived at the bottom of the stairs. Gallagher glanced at the prostrate, sagging body of Flynn. “Throw him in there on a form at once,” he said. “Mulholland. Come here. Where are those others?”
“Here they come, Commandant.”
“There’s no sight of him, Commandant,” gasped Tommy Connor, leaping down the stairs. “We thought we had better come back.”
“All right,” said Gallagher. “Are you all here now?”
He spoke in a terribly calm voice now. It was terrifying. Nobody answered for a moment.
“Hurry on, Peter,” said Connor to somebody that appeared at the top of the stairs.
It was Hackett. He rushed down, panting, with wild eyes. They were all back again.
“Who’s responsible for this?” cried Gallagher.
Nobody answered. He swore and strode away down the passage to the cell. Connor and Mulholland followed him. The others stood spellbound. Gallagher pushed the sentry out of the way with a curse and entered the cell. He flashed his torch. He saw everything. A cold perspiration started gently around his temples. He shivered. He left the cell followed by the two men. Nobody spoke. They returned to the men at the foot of the stairway. As Connor passed the room where Mary McPhillip was, he ran in, picked her up from the floor and put her sitting on the form. Then he rushed away to Gallagher.
Gallagher stood looking at the ground for a few moments, with the men standing around him in silence. Then he looked around fiercely at every one. He spoke gently and in a friendly tone.
“Comrades,” he said, “our lives are at stake. What’s more, the Organization is in danger. The cause is in danger. Comrades—that—man—must—be—found. That man must be found if it costs a hundred men. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Commandant,” cried they all eagerly.
“Finnigan and Murphy stay here on guard. Do you hear?”
They clicked their heels in silence.
“Mulholland, you take the rest with you in the van and try and cut him off from the bridges. He will try and cross the river to the south to get away to the mountains. Get away immediately. Place your men and take up position yourself at the Butt Bridge. I’ll send reinforcements to you there and another officer. Slattery, you get reinforcements. Mobilize ten men from this district. Take them off your own list. Beat it. Quick. Off you go, Bartly. Remember the Cause is at stake. We are lost if that man gets away. He may be making for the police already. Run for your lives.”
They
