Pay the Devil - Jack Higgins [59]
He flipped the coin into the air and the boy caught it neatly in his hat. “I’ll be here, sir, you can depend on that,” he said with a grin and disappeared through the doorway.
Clay went up to his bedroom for his hat and the Dragoon, and when he came back downstairs, Pegeen was saddled and waiting for him.
As Clay mounted, Joshua said, “Sure I can’t come with you, Colonel? You don’t look too good to me.”
Clay shook his head. “With any luck I’ll be back in a couple of hours. I’m going to see Shaun Rogan. I’ll tell you about it when I return.”
Leaves from the beech trees carpeted the path before him as he cantered up out of the valley. He rode with his left hand thrust deep into his jacket pocket, to support the arm which should really have been in a sling, and schooled his thoughts to ignore the steady, persistent throbbing of his wound.
It was one of those quiet autumn mornings, with the scent of wood smoke in the air and a peculiar heavy stillness over everything. He gave Pegeen her head and thundered along the track, not even pausing when Marteen Rogan rode out of the beech trees at the head of the valley and waved to him.
When he entered the farmyard, Cathal and Dennis were waiting in front of the door to greet him and Clay dismounted and walked forward, feeling more than a little light-headed.
“Is Kevin here?” he said.
Cathal shook his head. “He’s taking it easy a mile or two away in a place we know of, waiting to see which way the wind blows.”
“I never expected to see you on your feet this day, after what Kevin told us,” Dennis said. “And that’s a fact.”
Clay managed a tight smile. “I’m not too sure how long I can keep it up, but I had to see your father.”
Cathal led the way inside without another word and Clay followed. Shaun Rogan was sprawled comfortably in a chair by the fire, leg raised. As they entered, he turned with a frown and then something sparked in his eyes. “By God, Colonel, of all the men on earth this day, you are the one I wanted to see most. But shouldn’t you be in bed, man?”
Clay pulled forward a chair and sat down opposite him, face grave. “Something important came up. I had to see you.”
Shaun Rogan reached for the whiskey bottle. He filled a glass and pushed it across. “Here, drink that to start with. You look as if you could do with it.”
Clay drained the glass in one easy swallow and said quietly, “Have you had any dealings with a man called Fitzgibbon?”
Rogan frowned and nodded slowly. “An old friend of mine, a banker in Galway town.” He hesitated for a moment and then went on. “He holds the mortgage on this property.”
Clay shook his head slowly. “Not anymore. He died two days ago. His nephew has already agreed to dispose of the mortgage to Sir George Hamilton.”
There was a terrible silence in the room and a great vein in the old man’s temple throbbed steadily. His tongue flickered across dry lips as he said, “It can’t be true. I know Hamilton had tried to buy the mortgage on several occasions, but Fitzgibbon always refused. He was too good a friend to me.”
“Apparently, his nephew isn’t as sentimental,” Clay said drily. “He’s the sole heir and intends to settle the estate as quickly as possible. He sent a special messenger from Galway yesterday afternoon, who found Sir George at the pub in Kileen and delivered the letter asking him if he was still interested in the property. Sir George wrote his acceptance at once and returned the man to Galway, posthaste.”
The old man seemed momentarily dazed. “But it can’t be true,” he said. “It isn’t possible.”
“I’m afraid it is,” Clay said gently. “Miss Hamilton overheard her uncle and Burke discussing the matter this morning. She sent one of the stable boys over with a letter giving me full details.”
Cathal leaned forward, hands on the table and said quietly, “Let’s not be too hasty, Father. A mortgage is a legal document with clauses in it giving you time to pay and so on. Hamilton can’t just walk