Liam O'Flaherty: Land

He halted and struck the table a violent blow with his knuckles.

“I knew that one of the swine would turn traitor sooner or later,” he cried. “One of them always does, when things begin to get really hot.”

“Here he comes now,” Gregg said in a detached tone.

Lodge marched into the room ahead of the prisoner and said:

“We’ve been unable to get anything further out of him so far.”

The prisoner shuffled along painfully, with a sergeant holding him by the right arm and a constable by the left.

“Seat him here,” Gregg said, indicating a chair that stood near his own.

The escort seated the hapless young schoolmaster.

“You questioned him pretty thoroughly, did you?” Gregg said to the sergeant.

Sergeant Symes brought his heels together and stood rigidly at attention. He had a huge red neck and a flat face. His nose and ears showed the scars of many wounds. He had been a prizefighter at one time.

“Beg to report, sir,” he said in a hoarse voice, “that we tried every way we could to make him budge, but he continues to trot out the same story. I never in my life came across such a tough little fellow, sir.”

“What’s your opinion, sergeant?” said Gregg. “Is he a wrong one?”

The sergeant glanced at the prisoner for a moment and screwed up his eyes.

“I’d call it an even-money bet, sir,” he said. “He’s tough, all right.”

Gregg poured some whisky into a glass, which he offered to the prisoner.

“Here you are, lad,” he said in a fatherly tone. “You look a if you could do with a little of this.”

Instead of taking the offered glass, Cooney seized Gregg’s hand and kissed it several times with fervour.

“For the love and honour of God,” he said in a whining tone, “protect me from them. They did terrible things to me. Don’t let them touch me again.”

Gregg took away his hand gently and said:

“Drink this whisky and tell me your story. If you tell me the truth, nobody is going to touch you. Have no fear of that.”

Neville swore under his breath as he began to pace the floor again.

“Sheer waste of time,” he muttered. “Every moment counts when the iron is hot.”

Cooney sobbed aloud for a little while. Then he picked up the glass and swallowed all the whisky.

“God spare your health,” he said gratefully to Gregg.

“Out with it now, lad,” Gregg said. “Don’t be afraid. I guarantee you fair treatment, on my honour as a gentleman.”

Cooney shuddered. His whole face was battered and swollen almost beyond recognition. One eye was completely closed. His hair was matted with blood. His speech was blurred by the distortion of his lips.

“Three of us are in the plan to hand over Michael O’Dwyer,” he said. “The other two are Tommy De Burgo and Joe Beggs. They sent me to do the talking because I’m known to Captain Butcher. We have O’Dwyer in a house not very far from here. His left leg is broken below the knee. He got thrown from his horse during the cattle drive. Big Bill Flatley is coming after dark to move him. You have until noon to take him. Tommy and Joe are on guard. They’ll be relieved at noon by Peter Cook and Jerry O’Meara, who are now asleep in the house. Here is the plan Tommy made. I’m to be given the reward of three hundred sovereigns now, together with free pardons for the three of us, all signed and sealed. Then Captain Butcher and not more than four policemen are to come with me on a cart that has a crib on it. The tail-board of the crib must be fastened. I must be driving. The five men with me must be standing up in the crib. If everything is all right, I’ll give a certain signal at a certain place. If I get the answering signal at a certain other place the cart will halt. The tail-board will be unfastened and Captain Butcher will come down. Then the tail-board will be fastened tight again, leaving the other four men inside the cart. Captain Butcher will advance with me. Joe Beggs will advance with O’Dwyer from the opposite side. He’ll have O’Dwyer roped down on top of a hand-cart that’s at the house. The four policemen will keep me covered during the advance. Tommy will keep Captain Butcher covered. In that way, there will be no danger of treachery. Then the exchange will be made and both parties will retire free and easy. On the other hand, if I don’t give the signal agreed upon, nothing at all will happen.”

There was silence for a little while. Gregg kept twirling the ends of his moustaches as he looked steadily at Cooney. Now his eyes no longer twinkled. They had become hard.

“Is that all you feel like telling me, lad?” he said gently.

“That’s all, sir,” Cooney said. “I’m under oath not to tell any more, for fear there might be treachery. It’s well known that the police get full information from many a poor lad beforehand and then claim the reward for themselves. So …”

“Who is Tommy De Burgo?” Gregg interrupted.

“He comes from Sligo,” Cooney said. “He was a bank clerk in that town. Then he got in with moonlighters, through a fondness for drink and devilment. His crowd ‘carded’ an informer one night. They scraped the man’s back so terribly with the cards that he died on the spot. Although Tommy wasn’t there when the deed was done, the police came after him. He ran down here on his keeping and joined O’Dwyer. A few weeks ago, though, when he heard the men that killed the informer were caught and hanged, all four of them, he got mad with himself for becoming an outlaw, since he was wanted no longer. So he thought of this plan for getting to America with a few sovereigns in his pocket.”

“What about Joe Beggs?” said Gregg.

“It’s revenge Joe is after, more than the money,” Cooney said. “He is in love with Biddy Sweeney, that had her lovely golden hair shaved for walking out with a policeman a short while back, over in Ballyroche. Joe says she was innocent and that she was reported by another girl out of spite. He asked O’Dwyer to prevent the Committee from condemning her unjustly. When O’Dwyer wouldn’t listen to him …”

“What about yourself, lad?” Gregg interrupted, leaning towards the prisoner and making his voice still more gentle. “Why are you betraying your leader?”

Cooney raised his head very slowly and looked into Gregg’s eyes. He started violently. Then he began to tremble.

“I’m afraid,” he said. “I want to get out of the country. That’s all.”

Gregg leaned still farther towards the prisoner, who now sat absolutely motionless, as if hypnotised.

“Why do you insist on Captain Butcher coming with you in the cart?” Gregg said.

“Because we know him to be a man of his word,” Cooney replied. “He is a hard man, but he never breaks his given word. Ever since he came to Manister, he has never been known to break’ his given word. That’s why we want him and nobody else. We trust him. He has never broken …”

Gregg suddenly drew back his head and struck the table a violent blow with the flat of his hand.

“Take him back to the library,” he shouted fiercely. “Give it to him properly this time. Torture the lying little cur until you make him tell the truth. Give it to him.”

Cooney uttered a piercing shriek and threw himself to the ground at Gregg’s feet. He clasped the District Inspector’s knees tightly in his arms. The escort rushed forward to seize him. Gregg halted them by holding up his right hand. Everybody in the room listened intently as the prisoner began to speak.

“Don’t do it, sir,” he moaned. “Don’t do it. I can only tell you the truth, no matter what you do. Oh! For the love of God, sir, have mercy on me.”

Neville uttered an exclamation of disgust and marched around the table. He clicked his heels as he came to a halt beside Gregg.