The Tick of Death (12 page)

‘The leprechaun?’

‘Do not underestimate him. He has been exceedingly difficult over the matter of Malone.’

‘Nasty little cove.’

‘He was incensed at what we had to tell him. He was ready to cancel everything—a year’s work—until we told him about you. Even then, he was most disbelieving about your ability to stand in for Malone.’

‘I rather formed that impression too,’ said Cribb.

‘We had to paint you in glowing colours. Upon one point, in particular I bent the truth a little.’

‘What was that?’

‘The senior members of the Clan are most particular about one of the rules regarding descent. Everyone presented for membership has to have the Irish blood, you see.’

‘Now that’s a problem,’ said Cribb.

‘It might have been. I told them your mother was born in Skibbereen and that silenced them.’

‘It’s silenced me,’ said Cribb. ‘Where the devil is it?’

‘In County Cork. It’s one of the southernmost towns in Ireland. Carse comes from Dublin, so it’s unlikely that he knows Skibbereen. You don’t mind the deception, do you?’

‘I’ll square it with my conscience somehow. One needs to bend the truth occasionally in my profession.’

She smiled her thanks. ‘That was a darling of a demolition, Mr Sargent. We’ll not waste your second bomb on a folly, I promise you. It’ll be a deadly serious thing next time. If it does its work as well as the first, you’ll be the toast of all Ireland. There should be no worry, for the machines are identical, are they not?’

‘Like two peas from the same pod, Rossanna,’ said Cribb, speaking the truth.

At the house, he was instructed to wait in the hall while certain preliminaries took place in the drawing room. After some fifteen minutes, Rossanna came out with a black mask, like the one her father wore, except that it had no eye-spaces. ‘Do I have to wear that?’ he asked.

‘It’s part of the ritual,’ she explained, as she tied it firmly in place. ‘But you will be perfectly safe. The ballot for your membership has taken place and you got no black balls. You will be among friends. I shall hold your arm to guide you.’ She gave it a reassuring squeeze and led him forward.

He felt his feet leave the tiles and move on to carpet. The door closed behind him. A deep voice that he recognised as Millar’s spoke close in front of his face. ‘What is your name, friend?’

‘Sargent.’ There was no response to this, so he shrewdly added, ‘Michael Sargent.’

‘Very good. Tell us the names of your father and mother.’

He felt a slight pressure from Rossanna. ‘John Sargent and Molly O’Doherty.’ He paused for effect. ‘Of Skibbereen, in County Cork.’

Someone nearby grunted in satisfaction.

‘My friend,’ said Millar over a rustle of paper, suggesting that he was reading from a text, ‘you have sought affiliation with us animated by love, duty and patriotism.’

‘Not to say the Skirmishing Fund,’ murmured a voice in the background, possibly Devlin’s.

‘Stow your jaw, mister!’ said Millar, before continuing, in priestlike tones, ‘We have deemed you worthy of our confidence and our friendship. You are now within these secret walls. Those who surround you have all taken the obligations of our Order, and are endeavouring to fulfil its duties. These duties must be cheerfully complied with, or not at all undertaken. We are Irishmen banded together for the purpose of freeing Ireland and elevating the position of the Irish race. The lamp of the bitter past plainly points our path, and we believe that the first step on the road to freedom is secrecy. Destitute of secrecy, defeat will again cloud our brightest hopes; and, believing this, we shall hesitate at no sacrifice to maintain it.’

Cribb felt a hand fasten on his shoulder.

‘Be prepared, then, to cast aside with us every thought that may impede the growth of this holy feeling among Irishmen; for, once a member of this Order, you must stand by its watchwords of Secrecy, Obedience and Love. With this explanation, I ask you are you willing to proceed?’

‘Answer,’ whispered Rossanna.

‘I am willing,’ said Cribb.

‘Approach the President, then,’ ordered another voice. It belonged to Carse.

Rossanna piloted him in that direction.

‘My friend,’ said Carse, without a trace of affection, ‘by your own voluntary act you are now before us. You have learned the nature of the cause in which we are engaged—a cause honourable to our manhood, and imposed upon us by every consideration of duty and patriotism. We would not have an unwilling member among us, and we give you, even now, the opportunity of withdrawing, if you so desire.’

Cribb thought it politic to shake his head at the suggestion.

Carse went on, ‘Everyone here has taken a solemn and binding oath to be faithful to the trust we repose in him. This oath, I assure you, is one which does not conflict with any duty you owe to God, to your country, your neighbours, or yourself. It must be taken before you can be admitted to light and fellowship in our Order. With this assurance, will you submit yourself to our rules and regulations and take our obligation without mental reservation?’

‘I will,’ said Cribb. With an assurance like that, a man could promise anything.

‘Place your right hand on this flag of free Ireland, then, and say after me . . .’

Cribb repeated the oath phrase by phrase, ‘I, Michael Sargent, do solemnly and sincerely swear, in the presence of Almighty God, that I will labour, while life is left me’—(an inauspicious phrase, he thought) ‘—to establish and defend a republican form of government in Ireland. That I will never reveal the secrets of this organisation to any person or persons not entitled to know them. That I will obey and comply with the Constitution and laws of the United Brotherhood, and promptly and faithfully execute all constitutional orders coming to me from the proper authority, to the best of my ability. That I will foster a spirit of unity, nationality and brotherly love among the people of Ireland.

‘I furthermore swear that I do not now belong to any other Irish revolutionary society antagonistic to this organisation, and that I will not become a member of such society while connected with the Brotherhood, and, finally, I swear that I take this obligation without mental reservation, and that any violation hereof is infamous and merits the severest punishment. So help me God.’

Two loud raps followed.

‘Brothers and sister!’ said Millar’s voice. ‘It affords me great pleasure to introduce you to our new brother.’

Another rap.

‘Now take off your blindfold, Sargent, and let us get down to the serious business of the meeting,’ said Carse.

CHAPTER
12

CRIBB BLINKED, ACCUSTOMING HIS eyes to the gaslight. As he had estimated, the meeting was taking place in the drawing room. His newly acquired sister and brothers were ranged round him in a circle of high-backed chairs which included McGee’s invalid-chair. Carse, the senior man present, wore a chain of office with a silver pendant in the shape of a shield. On it was engraved a harp, two sides of which formed the arched body and wing of an angel.

‘Sit down, tenderfoot. We’ve finished with you,’ Carse told him brusquely.

He found a place between Devlin and Rossanna.

‘Now, Sister,’ Carse continued, with a thin smile directed to Cribb’s right. ‘We shall be obliged if you will deliver your father’s report on the work in hand.’

A familiar perfume was wafted Cribb’s way as Rossanna stirred in her chair. A small pulse at the base of her neck was throbbing visibly. Cribb had the strong intimation that she regarded Carse and Millar as potential enemies. ‘Well, gentlemen, the good news is that everything is ready. We have all been witnesses this evening to the devastation wreaked by Brother Sargent’s machine. An explosive device of identical construction, clock-timed and watertight, is waiting to be put into use. It requires only to be activated.’

Carse nodded. ‘That’s all in order then. But what about the Holland project? The bomb’s no use if that’s not finished. You’ve had a year to put it together and God knows how many dollars to pay for it. Is it ready as your father promised?’

‘Might I suggest that you come and see for yourselves?’ said Rossanna. ‘If it is possible for the meeting to adjourn for a few minutes, I have hurricane lamps ready and we can walk down to the workshop and ascertain whether the Clan’s dollars have been wisely invested.’

‘Very well,’ said Carse. ‘Collect your hats, Brothers.’

Outside, the moon was obscured by a bank of cloud, so the lamps were necessary at once. Devlin led, the others filing after him in silence, impressed, it seemed, with the solemnity of the occasion. With the addition of a couple of spades, Cribb reflected, they could have passed for an exhumation-party.

They stopped at the door of the large building where Devlin’s team had been employed. Devlin produced a ring of keys and unfastened two locks. The door opened inwards and they passed inside.

Cribb first noticed a strong smell of tar. Then he was compelled to turn his shoulders and move sideways along the inner side of the building. The farther he penetrated, the narrower the passage became. The building accommodated an object of such proportions that it was impossible in that confined area to estimate its shape. All he could tell in the uncertain light was that the section nearest him was curved and made of riveted metal plates coated with tar. It rose above the height of his bowler.

‘Climb the step-ladder ahead of you, Mr Sargent, and you will get a better view,’ Rossanna’s voice advised him.

He found a ladder roped to part of the wooden framework that flanked the object. He climbed it and joined Devlin and Carse on a small platform, two planks in width. Devlin hooked his lamp on to one of the cross-beams above them, and Millar, who had appeared on a similar platform on the opposite side, did the same, so producing the best illumination possible in the circumstances. The shadow of Rossanna, climbing the ladder on Millar’s side, danced to the swinging of the lamps.

Cribb still had difficulty in recognising the object. Its main section was in the shape of a cigar about thirty feet long, and there was a low turret-shaped superstructure in the centre.

‘There, gentlemen,’ said Rossanna, ‘you see the culmination of a year’s work.’

‘Nine years,’ Carse corrected her. ‘This was begun with John Holland’s work in New Jersey.’

‘Who is John Holland?’ Cribb enquired, hopeful that the answer might explain the purpose of the metal cigar.

‘Holland?’ said Devlin, in a tone suggesting that the question should not have been asked. ‘He is the fellow who has made the submarine boat a practical reality. An Irishman, born in County Clare, and a Fenian, thank God. He built his first with Fenian money as long ago as 1875, three years after he arrived in the States. The man has thought of nothing else but designing submarine boats since he was a boy in Liscannor. This is an improved version of the Holland III, known as the
Fenian Ram.
’

‘It had better be improved,’ said Carse. ‘Sixty thousand dollars of the Skirmishing Fund went into the first three boats, for nothing more sensational than a few excursions up the Passaic River.’

‘She has undergone two months of trials in the Estuary,’ said Devlin. ‘She is ready for whatever action is required of her. Would you care to see inside? There is a hinged lid, you see—’

‘That can wait,’ said Carse quickly. ‘How is she powered? With an oil engine, like the
Ram?
’

‘Oh, no,’ said Devlin. ‘This vessel is electrically driven. She has two Edison-Hopkinson motors capable of developing up to forty-five horse-powers. Each one is powered by an Elwell-Parker battery with fifty-two accumulators. They produce a tension of 104 volts.’

‘It sounds capital,’ said Millar from the other side, ‘but as a man without much knowledge of electricity it doesn’t mean a damned thing to me, Brother. What’s her top speed below the surface, and how long can she stay under?’

‘She’ll do eight knots submerged,’ said Devlin, ‘and she could stay under indefinitely. It’s the air the crew have to breathe that limits the length of the submersions.’

‘Limits them to what?’ asked Millar.

‘I would estimate two hours with a crew of three.’

Millar and Carse exchanged glances. ‘That should suffice,’ said Carse. ‘How deep can she dive with safety?’

Devlin tapped the hull of the submarine boat with his shoe. ‘She’s constructed of Siemens-Martin steel plates five-sixteenths of an inch thick. They’ll withstand the pressure fifty feet down, if necessary. And she can hide in ten feet of water. I can give you a demonstration tomorrow.’

‘That won’t be possible,’ said Carse. ‘We shall have to take your word for it that everything is in order. But as you were selected for this assignment on account of your knowledge of Holland’s work, we have every confidence in you, Brother.’

Rossanna spoke. ‘If you have seen enough, gentlemen, shall we return to the house? There is still my father’s plan to expound.’

They shortly resumed in the dining room, where a large chart of the river between Erith Reach and The Lower Hope was spread across the table. McGee, masked as usual, was seated at the head. At Rossanna’s reappearance, he started babbling incoherently. She took his hand in hers and quietened him, but not before Millar had taken Cribb aside. ‘Is he always like this?’ he asked.

‘It’s a speech impediment,’ said Cribb. ‘The legacy of his accident.’

‘Poor beggar! You wouldn’t believe there’s a brain still functioning behind that piece of silk.’

‘It’s hard to credit,’ Cribb agreed.

‘Come, Brothers, we have much to do,’ Carse called from across the table. ‘Sister McGee, we await your father’s report.’

Rossanna was on her feet. ‘Gentlemen, my father wishes to welcome you to this meeting of our camp, here in the enemy’s country. A year has passed since he left his brothers in New York and set sail for England with the object of putting John Holland’s work to practical use on this side of the Ocean. It has been a difficult year, blighted by adversity, but in all our work the flame of the cause has burned bright, never flickering, nor threatening to go out. Maimed as he is, crippled and bereft of speech, my father is still the revolutionary you commissioned to carry out the active work of the Clan. And he is proud to report that with the loyal support of other members of the group here present, not to say the practical assistance of patriots domiciled in London, he has brought his work to perfection.’

‘We shall form our own opinion about that,’ said Carse, without much charity. ‘What is the plan?’

Unperturbed, Rossanna continued: ‘Well, gentlemen, I think you know. Our purpose is assassination. We are pledged to take the life of a certain personage, to demonstrate the strength and resolve of the Irish movement. The difficulties of such a mission at the present time are legion. There is not a public figure in London, not one miserable undersecretary, who does not have his personal body-guard. You cannot get within a hundred yards of a public building with anything that distantly resembles an infernal machine.

‘But the more difficult the task is made, the more brilliant will its achievement seem. We have been compelled to answer English organisation with Irish genius. Our submarine boat gives us the means of penetrating the enemy’s defences by a route they cannot dream is possible. For many months, our agents have observed the passage of sea-going ships up and down the reaches of the Thames. It was thought at first that we might mount an attack with torpedoes on one of the vessels of the merchant fleet. Then a more audacious plan suggested itself. It is the custom for ships to anchor in Gravesend Reach to wait for the next tide for the last mile upriver. Outgoing vessels, too, break their journeys here for at least one tide to take on passengers. Gravesend has become the place for fashionable people to embark and disembark. They pass between the ships and Gravesend pier on small steam-launches. Mr Gladstone himself used Gravesend after his cruise in the
Pembroke Castle
with the Tennysons and Sir Donald Currie last September.’

‘Jesus! If only we’d been ready, we could have done for Gladstone!’ said Devlin.

‘And set the cause back twenty years,’ said Carse witheringly. ‘The Clan does not murder indiscriminately. Gladstone for all his faults provides the best hope we have of achieving Home Rule. Please go on, Sister.’

‘I was remarking that Gravesend is patronised by all the most illustrious ocean-going travellers,’ said Rossanna. ‘It was obvious to my father that sooner or later some person suitable for assassination would appear there. But rather than focus our attention on the ship, and attack it with torpedoes, he fastened on a more certain means of destroying our victim; it is to attach a watertight box containing a bomb to the underside of the pier. It will be clock-timed, of course, and set according to the itinerary, which is always conveniently published in the newspapers when personages of that class set sail.’

‘Stunning!’ said Millar. ‘The submarine boat can deposit the bomb two hours ahead, and be clear of the area by the time it detonates.’

‘Exactly. And it is far more certain to account for its victim than a torpedo fired at the iron hull of a great oceangoing vessel.’ Rossanna surveyed her audience to see that the point was taken.

Carse placed his hand palm downwards on the table. ‘One moment. This pier. It would need to be a floating pier to take account of tidal variations, would it not?’

‘Lord, yes,’ said Devlin. ‘The average rise and fall is fifteen feet. But the river is twenty-five feet deep at low water at Gravesend. We’ve been into all this.’

‘I don’t doubt that you have. What I cannot comprehend is how you propose to attach Brother Sargent’s bomb to the underside of the pier. When you are ten feet under water in a submarine boat, you cannot open the man-hole in the roof, you know.’

Devlin ignored the sarcasm. ‘That is why I have devised an apparatus—a form of harness—to convey the bomb on top of the conning-tower, after the fashion of the rack on top of a cab. Several hooks will project upwards ready to fasten on to the pier when we pass beneath it and so detach the bomb from its harness.’

Carse released a long breath, vibrating his lips at the same time. ‘That sounds extremely hazardous to me.’

‘Courting disaster,’ added Millar, for emphasis.

‘What if the mechanism of the bomb is disturbed?’ said Carse.

Cribb decided some expert reassurance was wanted. ‘Ah, if that happens, it’s a guinea to a gooseberry that the thing won’t detonate at all.’

‘But Mr Sargent’s bomb is so beautifully packed that it is most unlikely to be disturbed by the manoeuvre,’ Rossanna quickly added. ‘You must examine it yourselves. It’s as neat as a picnic-hamper from Fortnum and Mason.’

Cribb noted the compliment. It was comforting to know that if he was drummed out of the Force for his part in these activities, there might be an opening in the grocery trade.

‘Very well,’ said Carse. ‘Let us presume that the explosion is successful. What guarantee is there that it will destroy a man standing upon the pier?’

‘I should have thought the answer to that was obvious,’ said Rossanna, clearly becoming nettled by the trend of the conversation. ‘This evening we saw a brick building totally demolished. We are now talking about a pier constructed of
wood.
’

‘The bulk of which,’ countered Carse, ‘is below the surface of the water. I think it would surprise you if you saw the volume of timber required to support a floating pier. The charge—if it detonates—will rend the planks asunder, I agree, but I am not so sure that it will kill anyone standing on top. We have not gone to so much trouble and expense to let our victim off with a ducking.’

‘But the gazebo was blown to smithereens by a bomb ten feet underneath,’ persisted Rossanna.

‘Not so, my dear,’ said Carse. ‘Brother Sargent’s bomb destroyed part of the understructure. When that was gone, the building collapsed. What we saw tonight was admirable in its way, but quite a different exercise from blowing up Gravesend pier.’ He paused, before adding, with exaggerated courtesy, ‘Sister.’

Rossanna flushed with annoyance. ‘Then perhaps— Brother—you can suggest a better way of doing it.’

‘Certainly,’ said Carse in the same bland tone. ‘How much dynamite do we have in store here, Brother Devlin?’

‘About two hundredweight.’

‘Very good. And is this submarine boat capable of conveying that amount to Gravesend?’

Devlin frowned, puzzled. ‘I don’t see why not.’

‘Very well. This is my proposal, then. Instead of trying to do clever underwater tricks with hooks and harness, we make quite sure that our bomb is lodged in the right place by converting our submarine boat into the biggest and most devastating infernal machine in history. In other words, we stuff the boat with dynamite—including Brother Sargent’s estimable bomb, which in these circumstances will serve as the detonator—and anchor it below the pier. When it explodes, the pier and everyone on it will be blown to bits, and probably half Gravesend as well.’