Luke Rogan knew where to find him that late in the day. Sir Marcus Hetherington was at his club, whiling away the evening by conversing with friends about the merits of certain racehorses on which they intended to place a wager. When the steward brought him Rogan's card, Sir Marcus detached himself from the group and retired to a quiet corner to receive his visitor. After crossing the Channel again when the waves were choppy, Rogan was looking distinctly unwell. He refused the offer of a whisky, vowing to touch neither food nor drink until his stomach had settled down. He lowered himself gingerly into a chair beside Sir Marcus.
'Well?' said the old man.
'It was as I told you, Sir Marcus – no need to fear.'
'You saw the men?'
'I spoke to their leader.'
'What did he tell you?'
When Rogan repeated the list of incidents that had occurred on the railway line, Sir Marcus gave a smile of satisfaction. His money had not, after all, been squandered. He now understood why none of the destruction that had been wrought had been reported in the French newspapers.
'This is all very gratifying,' he said.
'To you, Sir Marcus, but not to me.'
'What are you talking about?'
'Taking that boat when the waves were so high,' said Rogan, holding his stomach. 'It fair upset me, Sir Marcus. I feel ill. I went all that way to find out something that I knew already. You should have trusted me.'
'I trust you – but not your friends.'
'Oh, they're not friends of mine.'
'Then what are they?'
'I'd call them the scum of the earth,' said Rogan with a sneer, 'and the only reason I employ them is that I can rely on them to do what they're told. Pay them well and they do your bidding. But you'd never want to call any of them a friend, Sir Marcus. They're ruffians.'
'Even ruffians have their uses at times.'
'Once this is over, I wash my hands of them.'
'That brings us to the crux of the matter,' said Sir Marcus.
'When will this finally be over? What they have accomplished so far is a series of delays and I willingly applaud them for that. Delays, however, are mere irritations to a man like Brassey. He's indomitable. He'll shrug off temporary setbacks and press on regardless. When are your friends – your hired ruffians, I should say – going to make it impossible for him to carry on?'
'Soon.'
'How soon?'
'Within a day or two, Sir Marcus,' said Rogan, confidently. 'That's what I was told. They're going to make one last strike before getting away from the site for good.'
'One last strike?'
'It will be much more than a simple delay.'
'Why?'
'They're going to burn down Mr Brassey's office and destroy all the surveys that people like Gaston Chabal prepared for him. Without anything to guide them, they simply won't be able to go on with the work. But there's more, Sir Marcus,' said Rogan, grinning wolfishly, 'and it will give them the biggest headache of all.'
'Go on.'
'They're going to steal the big safe from the office. It not only contains valuable documents that cannot be replaced, it holds all the money to pay the navvies.'
'So they'll get no wages,' said Sir Marcus, slapping his knees in appreciation. 'By George, this is capital!'
'No money and thousands of angry men to face.'
'Come pay day and Brassey will have a veritable riot on his hands. I take back all I said, Rogan,' the old man added with a condescending smile. 'I should never have doubted your ability to pick the right men for the job. Ruffians or not, these fellows deserve a medal. They'll have brought the whole enterprise to a juddering halt.'
There were five of them in all. One of them, Gerald Murphy, was employed as a nightwatchman so he was able to tell them exactly where his colleagues were placed and how best to avoid them. Another man, Tim Dowd, drove one of the carts that took supplies to various parts of the site. Pierce Shannon, Liam Kilfoyle and Brendan Mulryne completed the gang. When they slipped out of the inn after dark, their leader noted that someone was missing.
'Where's Brendan?' he said.
'Saying farewell to his lady love,' replied Kilfoyle with a snigger. 'He's probably telling her that he'll see her later when, in fact, he'll be on the run with the rest of us.'
'Go and fetch him, Liam.'
'Never come between a man and his colleen.'
'Then I'll get the bastard.'
Shannon turned on his heel but he did not have to go back into the building. Mulryne was already walking towards him, still savouring the long, succulent kiss that he had just been given in the privacy of the cellar. He beamed at the others.
'Ah, isn't love a wonderful thing?' he announced.
'Not if it holds us up,' said Shannon, brusquely. 'Forget about her, Brendan. After tonight, you'll have enough money to buy yourself any pair of tits you take a fancy to.'
'I'm sorry, Pierce. What must I do?'
'Shut up and listen.'
Keeping his voice low, Shannon gave them their orders. Murphy was to act as their lookout and he rehearsed a whistle he would give them by way of a warning. Dowd was to bring his horse and cart to the rear of Brassey's office. Kilfoyle was charged with the task of creating a diversion by burning down Aubrey Filton's office. When all the attention was fixed on that, Shannon himself would start a fire in the contractor's office.
Mulryne was baffled. 'What do I do, Pierce?' he asked.
'The most difficult job of all,' said Shannon.
'And what's that?'
'Lifting the safe on to the wheelbarrow that Tim will bring.'
'Oh, that's easily done.'
'It won't be,' warned Kilfoyle. 'I've seen it. That safe will be a ton weight, Brendan.'
'I'll manage it,' boasted Mulryne. 'If it's full of money, I'll make sure that I do. Though it'd be a lot bleeding quicker if we blow open the safe there and then. We can just grab the money and run.'
'That's too dangerous,' said Shannon. 'You can't control an explosion. Besides, we've no more gunpowder left. It's far better to steal the fucking safe and take it away on the cart. By the time they discover it's gone, we'll be miles away.'
'Counting out our share of the money,' said Kilfoyle.
'I'll do that, Liam. You only get what I give you.'
'That's fair,' agreed Mulryne. 'Pierce has done all the hard work, planning everything. It's only right that he should get a little more than the rest of us.'
Shannon looked around them. 'Are we all ready, lads?'
'Yes,' they replied in unison.
'Then let's kill this fucking railway line once and for all!'
Robert Colbeck had been rescued at the last moment. The information passed on by the French barmaid had persuaded Superintendent Tallis to stay for one more day. He accepted that it might, after all, be possible to catch the men who had caused so much disruption on the railway and, in doing so, discover who their English paymaster was. Along with Thomas Brassey and a group of his most trusted men, Tallis was in hiding not far from the contractor's office. All but Brassey were armed with cudgels or guns. Nobody expected that the Irishmen would give up without a fight.
