“As you seem to have lost your voice,” he whispered, “I had better tell you myself who that man was. There’s no need to describe him for the court. The court can see the man for themselves. I’m going to tell the court the very name of the informer that betrayed his comrade, Francis Joseph McPhillip, I’m going to point out the informer with my own hand. That is the man,” he cried suddenly, with terrific force, turning to the judges and pointing his pistol at Gypo. “Comrades, the informer is Gypo Nolan, who is sitting there on that form.” He had scarcely finished when Gypo uttered a muffled scream like a dumb animal in mortal agony. He tumbled forward to the stone floor. He frothed at the mouth. He reached out his trembling hands towards Gallagher. “Commandant,” he cried, “I didn’t know what I was doin’. I declare to God I didn’t know what I was doin’. Can’t ye see what I mane?” He raised his voice to a scream and he kept dragging himself forward over the floor towards Gallagher’s feet. Then he struggled to his hands and knees. He stretched out his hands on either side, panting: “Is there no man here to tell him why I did it? I can’t tell him. My head is sore. I can’t tell him. Commandant, Commandant, you an’ me, Commandant. We’ll make a plan, the two of us . . . uh-r-r-r. . . .” His voice sank into an inarticulate jabber as his hands clutched Gallagher’s boots and he sank again prone to the ground. His thick lips that tried to kiss Gallagher’s boots were imprinting kisses on the stone flags. Gallagher kicked away the clutching hands and called out sharply: “Take him to the cell and place him under close guard.” Immediately the four armed men rushed forward and bent down to seize Gypo. But as soon as they touched him, he stiffened. He immediately rose with them to his feet, with an accession of unaccountable strength. He shook the four men off with a shrug of his whole body. Then he was about to crouch to rush at Gallagher, when the four of them flung themselves upon him again with a simultaneous cry. He swayed for a moment on bent thighs, reeling under the impact of the four bodies, two of them on his back, two gripping him about the waist. Then he took a fierce, taut step forward with his right foot, gasping as he did so. He planted the boot on the floor with a ringing sound and then jerked himself backwards. The two men who had landed on his back, flung their arms around his neck and swayed, banging their heads together, their legs flying adrift. A cry arose: “Overpower him. Help! Help!” The three judges moved back from the table and stood against the wall, undecided whether to run for safety, or to rush to the attack. Mulholland pulled at Gallagher’s arm excitedly. “Will I fire, Commandant?” he whispered. “Don’t shoot,” murmured Gallagher in a dazed, sleepy voice. He was staring at the struggling men with a sad smile on his face, as if he were dreaming. “Don’t shoot. He’s not sentenced yet. Don’t fire, I tell you.”