Pay the Devil - Jack Higgins [54]
There was a gap in the wall and, pulling the black scarf up over his face, he squeezed through and crossed to the back door. It opened to his touch and he stepped into a stone-flagged kitchen and drew his Colt.
The room was empty, but a stout wooden door stood ajar on the far side and he could hear a murmur of voices. He listened to them for a moment and then opened the door wide and stepped through into the bar.
The publican was in the act of turning, a jug in one hand. He stood quite still and an expression of ludicrous dismay appeared on his face. “Captain Swing!” he whispered.
Two men sat in the inglenook by the fire. One was old, with long white hair and a face like a russet apple. Clay saw, with a sense of shock, that the other was Father Costello.
As they turned to look at him, he said softly in an Irish accent, “No trouble now and you won’t come to any harm.”
The publican backed away to join the other two by the fire, and Father Costello said quietly, “These are good people, my friend. I can vouch for that.”
The publican seemed to have recovered from his first shock and now his face was alive and interested. “Glory be, Captain, Father Costello speaks nothing but the truth. We’re all Irishmen here and to hell with the bloody British Empire!”
“Up the Republic!” the old man cackled, and Father Costello laid a hand gently on his arm.
“I intend harm to no man here,” Clay said. “But I need your help. In fact I’ll have to insist on it.” He looked directly at the publican. “How many customers do you expect within the next halfhour?”
The man shrugged. “The local lads usually come in at eight. There might be the odd one before then, but I wouldn’t bank on it in weather like this.”
Clay nodded in satisfaction. “That suits me perfectly. Have you got a horse in the stables at the back?”
The publican nodded and there was pride in his voice. “You could call her that. As fine a mare as you’ll see in a day’s ride. She won me twenty pounds at Galway Fair this summer.”
“Would you lend her to save a man’s life?” Clay asked.
The publican frowned and then his nostrils flared. “By God, I will, if you say the word, Captain. We owe you that and more in Kileen after the way you handled Squire Marley for us.”
“Good man!” Clay said. “Now this is what I want you to do. Sometime during the next hour at the outside, Sir George Hamilton will pass through Kileen in his coach with an armed guard. They carry Kevin Rogan to Galway to see him hanged.”
Father Costello’s breath hissed sharply between his teeth and the old man crossed himself and muttered, “God save us all!”
“When they arrive,” Clay went on, “I want you to go out and stop the coach. Tell Sir George the bridge is down and that men are trying to repair it. He wants to reach Galway tonight, so I’m hoping he’ll send most of his men to help with the work on the bridge while he waits here with Rogan.”
“If Kevin Rogan has killed a man, he must stand trial,” Father Costello said quietly.
Clay shook his head. “If he isn’t home by midnight, his father intends to hang Peter Burke, Father. Take your choice.”
Pain appeared on the priest’s face, and the publican said hesitantly, “It’s not that I’m afraid for myself, you understand, Captain, but I’ve a daughter away in Galway town to think of. What will Sir George do to me when he finds I’ve helped trick him?”
Before Clay could answer, Father Costello said quietly, “It has occurred to me that if we fail to fall in with your plans, you may offer us some violence, Captain. Is this not so?”
Clay saw his drift immediately. “Naturally, Father.”
The priest sighed. “Then it would seem I have no option, but to go out and speak with Sir George if only to save my two companions here from your wrath.”
The publican smiled and turned to Clay. “I’ll saddle the mare for you, Captain.” Clay told him where to leave her, and the man went out,