Cry of the Hunter - Jack Higgins [48]
‘Has she run out on you, then?’ Murphy said with interest.
Conroy looked pained. ‘I mean she’s passed on to a happier land, young man,’ he said reprovingly. He sighed deeply and produced a bottle from behind a cushion. ‘But these things are sent to try us, I suppose. Would you like a drop of the hard stuff, Mr. Fallon?’ Fallon shook his head and the man raised the bottle to his mouth and swallowed deeply.
The door opened and Rose came in from the kitchen carrying a tray loaded with plates of food. ‘Will you sit down, Mr. Fallon?’ she said, putting a generously heaped plate down at the head of the table.
Her father rubbed his hands together and said, ‘Yes, indeed, Mr. Fallon. Sit you down. It’s only humble fare but I’m a poor man. A poor man.’
Surprisingly the food was quite good and Fallon and Murphy tucked into it without further conversation. The meal passed in silence punctuated by the various unpleasant slobbering sounds without which Conroy seemed unable to pass food into his mouth. When they had finished Fallon pushed back his plate and said, ‘That was a fine meal, Rose. As good as I’ve ever tasted.’
She coloured and started to clear the plates and her father leered and said, ‘Aye, she’ll make some lucky lad a fine wife.’ He grinned evilly and rammed his elbow into Fallon’s side. ‘Believe me, Mr. Fallon, cooking isn’t her only virtue.’
Fallon stifled his disgust and managed a smile as the girl brought in the tea. She looked near to tears and he guessed that she’d heard her father’s remark. Murphy got up and said, ‘Come on, Rose. I’ll give you a hand with the dishes,’ and he grinned at Fallon and followed her into the kitchen.
Conroy belched and began to pick his teeth with a matchstalk. He leaned back in his chair. ‘Well, now, Mr. Fallon. It’s a hornets’ nest you’ve stirred up this time, and no mistake.’
Fallon took out a cigarette and said calmly, ‘I’ve stirred them up before.’
The old man nodded. ‘I’m not denying it, but never to such an extent as this.’
Fallon leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. ‘All right, Paddy. Let’s have it. What have you heard.’
Conroy took out an old clay pipe and began to fill it from a rubber pouch. ‘They’ve got the troops out this time, Mr. Fallon.’ He paused to light his pipe and when it was drawing properly, went on. ‘If you’re thinking of trying for Donegall, forget it. They’ve not only got the soldiers between here and the border; the polis are out in these armoured cars they’ve got now. Terrible things they are, with fancy radios. You wouldn’t stand a chance.’
Fallon nodded slowly, his face impassive. Inside his thoughts were racing. It was a mess. Much worse than he had imagined. He smiled and said, ‘Not to worry, Paddy. I’ve got plans.’ He leaned across and patted Conroy on the knee and added. ‘With friends he can trust a man can go a long way.’
Conroy nodded vigorously. ‘Indeed he can, Mr. Fallon.’ He paused and examined the stem of his pipe. ‘There’s the reward of course.’ He looked up hastily and added, ‘Not that I’m suggesting anyone would betray you, Mr. Fallon, but five thousand pounds is a terrible amount of money.’
Fallon nodded calmly. ‘That’s true enough,’ he said. ‘Of course it’s not much use if you can’t spend it. I don’t think the Organization would let the man who earned it live long enough to enjoy it.’
There was a short, pregnant silence and Conroy sighed. ‘Aye, you’re right there, Mr. Fallon.’ For a moment longer he stared deeply into space and then he pulled himself together and said brightly, ‘But let’s discuss the important things, Mr. Fallon. How long will you be staying with us?’
A small warning voice spoke inside Fallon and he said warily, ‘I’m not sure. Certainly until tomorrow night.’ In his wallet he still had more than a hundred pounds left of the money O’Hara had given him. He took it out now and extracted ten pounds displaying the rest ostentatiously. Conroy’s eyes gleamed and Fallon pushed the money across. ‘That’s a little something