He wanted time to compose himself. Gallagher’s proposal had taken him so completely by surprise that he was beside himself. Since that infernal moment when he kicked open the door of the police-station, his whole life had been submerged in a pitch-black cloud that was impenetrable and offered no escape. He had been alone, outcast, encompassed by a universal horde of enemies. Now, suddenly, he was offered a means of escape by the great Gallagher himself. Gallagher, the great Gallagher, had made him an offer. He would get back again into the Organization. Again people would be afraid of him. Again clever men would be always at hand to make plans for him, to provide him with money for doing daring things, to protect him, to praise his recklessness, his strength and his . . . Mother of Mercy! What Luck! As he wiped his mouth on his sleeve at the counter an insane idea struck him, such was his eagerness to qualify immediately for readmission to the Organization. For a moment he contemplated the man who had gone into the police-station as a being apart from himself. Sound began to gurgle up his throat. It was an attempt on the part of his present personality to speak and deliver information against that dazed Gypo Nolan who had stumbled into the police-station. But the sound froze in his throat, in a ball, hurting him as if his tonsils had swollen suddenly. He realized that he himself was one with that ponderous fellow, wearing a little tattered round hat, who had gone into the police-station. It was only another artifice on the part of something within him, his conscience maybe, to persuade him to make a confession of his betrayal. That same impulse had confused him all the time that he was looking at Mrs. McPhillip. And then, just as in the public-house, when he had been terrified by Katie Fox, his mind had given birth to an insane plan about a sailor in a tavern, so now also his mind conceived an amazing fabrication. It entered his brain suddenly, like a thunder-storm, with noise and fury. His face and eyes lit up. He opened his mouth. He walked over to Gallagher quickly and spoke in a hissing whisper. “I’ll tell ye who informed,” he gasped. “It’s the Rat Mulligan. It’s him as sure as Christ was crucified.” The three men gathered up close to him. They all looked behind them suspiciously and then stared at him with narrowed eyes. There was a moment of tense silence. Then each drew a deep breath. Connor slipped his finger over the trigger of his revolver. “The Rat Mulligan!” exclaimed Gallagher at length. “How d’ye make that out, Gypo?”