“I’ll tell ye,” cried Gypo triumphantly. Then he paused again and looked about him with furrowed brows dramatically. “I didn’t like to say anythin’ mesel’ for reasons that everybody knows. A man can never be sure of a thing like that. An’ God knows it’s a quare charge to bring agin a man. But as ye put it the way ye put it, Commandant, about him bein’ me pal an’ me duty to the Cause, well . . . Still! Poor Mulligan!” “Oh, come on,” cried Gallagher twitching with excitement. “Get finished with what you have to say. Make your statement, man.” But Gypo was not to be hurried. An amazing arrogance had taken possession of him. He reached out towards the glass of whisky that Gallagher still held untasted in his hand. “Gimme that, Commandant,” he said, “seein’ as yer not tastin’ it.” Gallagher nervously handed him the drink. “Thanks. Here’s luck. Ah! Good stuff that. Well. This is how it was. Just after Frankie left me in the dining-room, I suddenly thought to mesel’ that I had better run after him and try an’ head him off from goin’ home. I had been tryin’ to make him clear out of town again an’ not go near Titt Street, but the same cranky fellah that he always was wouldn’t listen to a word of what I said. So that I said to mesel’, Lord have mercy on him, ‘Well, me fine fellah, I’m not goin’ to get mesel’ into a fever, tryin’ to keep ye outa harm’s way an’ get cursed upside down for doin’ so.’ Well anyway, as soon as he had gone, I decided to follow him and give him a last shout. I ran out into the hall an’ who do I see but the Rat sneakin’ around the corner. I ran down the hall. There was the Rat at the door with his hands in his overcoat pockets peerin’ up the lane. Then he dived out into the street, I chased after him. I was just in time to see Frankie turnin’ the corner into the road with the Rat crawlin’ after him. It’s as clear as daylight. So it is. Lord have mercy on the dead, if I had only thought of it at the time, Frankie might have been alive at this minute instead o’ bein’ a frozen corpse. Give us another drink, Commandant. Me throat is parched.” Without a word or a glance Gallagher walked up to the counter and rapped at the aperture. Gypo did not even condescend to follow his movements. His conceit was now boundless. He realized that he himself was amazingly cunning. He even felt a contempt for Gallagher in his mind. As for Mulholland and Connor . . . He glanced at them appraisingly, as a man might glance at a useful pair of dogs. It was the same kind of glance that Gallagher was in the habit of directing towards everybody. Gallagher brought a fresh glass of whisky and handed it to him. He took it without a word of thanks. He walked to the spittoon and emptied his mouth into it. Then he swallowed the drink again at one draught. He put the empty glass on the mantelpiece and coughed deeply. He clasped his hands behind his back with a loud sound. He began to balance himself backwards and forwards on his heels like a policeman.