“Shut up, you fool,” snapped Gallagher. “Listen, Commandant,” cried Mulholland excitedly; “it’s him. I’ll swear it is, because——” “Damn you,” snarled Gallagher, “who is asking your opinion? Give me your report. Quick, quick. Don’t make a song of it.” In short jerky statements, with rapid gestures, Mulholland described all that had happened at No. 44 Titt Street, Gypo’s excitement, the falling of the money to the floor, Gypo’s giving it to Mrs. McPhillip, his rush from the house. Then suddenly he began in a whining voice to recount all he had done since he had been mobilized at eight o’clock on receipt of the news of Francis McPhillip’s death. But Gallagher cut him short. “Cut that out,” he cried. “Did the police find any papers at No. 44? No. Good. Was anything found on the body? You don’t know. Well, you better find out to-morrow at the inquest. Now beat it. Keep at Gypo’s heels like a pot of glue. Find out every damn thing you can. Bring him along sharp to the Bogey Hole at one-thirty. Off.” Mulholland disappeared without a word. Gallagher turned to Connor. “You Connor. Mobilize six men of your section. Round up Mulligan. Get him to the Bogey Hole. Get busy.” Connor mumbled something and disappeared. Gallagher remained staring at the ground, alone, lost in thought. Drunken voices were singing in the next compartment. Feet were shuffling. A droning voice cried constantly: “Time, please, gentlemen, time.” Gallagher’s eyes distended dreamily. He sighed. “The least little rift,” he murmured to himself, “and everything is burst open. Then it’s all up with me. I’ve got to stamp out this damned informer whoever he is. It may be Gypo. It might be the Rat, though that’s very doubtful. That’s of no consequence. What is of consequence is the fact that there is an informer. . . . Good God! An informer is the great danger. Every man’s hand is against me. It’s only fear that protects me. I must make an example of this fellow.” His voice had gradually died out. Now silence reigned in the room again. The room was hot and stifling, full of the smell of stale drink and tobacco. He stared at the floor. A cockroach peered out of its hole, contemplated a blotch of drink four inches away from its snout and then disappeared again. It would come out later on and suck the blotch. The distance was full of sound as if many things were happening there. Then Gallagher raised his head with a start. He sighed and walked rapidly over to the aperture. He tapped the panel with his knuckles. It was raised up almost immediately. The pretty red head appeared. Gallagher nodded. The red head disappeared again and the slide was pulled down. Gallagher waited. After three seconds a little door to the left was opened quietly and the barmaid stepped into the room, shutting the door carefully behind her. She rushed immediately to Gallagher and threw her arms around his neck. He kissed her lips several times rapidly. Then he unwound her arms.