It was when he reached the Scimitar that he ran into his first snag for as he opened the door to get behind the wheel, the whippet slipped through his legs and scampered away.
Fallon went after it fast. It went round the corner of the chapel and followed the path he had just used. When he reached the place where he had strewn the ashes, the whippet was crouching in the wet grass, whining very softly.
Fallon picked him up and fondled his ears, talking softly to his as he walked back. When he got behind the wheel this time, he held on to the animal until he had dosed the door. He put it in the rear seat and drove away quickly.
It was only after he had dosed the five-barred gate behind him and turned into the main road again that he allowed that iron composure of his to give a little. He gave a long shudder-ing sigh, a partial release of tension, and when he lit a cigarette his hands were trembling.
It had worked and there was a kind of elation in that. For a while it had seemed that Billy Meehan might prove to be just as malignant an influence in death as he had been in life, but not now. He had ceased to exist, had been wiped dean off the face of the earth, and Fallon felt not even a twinge of com-punction.
As far as he was concerned, Billy Meehan had been from under a stone, not fit to wipe Anna da Costa’s shoes. Let be.
When he reached Paul’s Square, he turned into the mews entrance cautiously, but luck was with him to the very end. The yard was deserted. He ran the Scimitar into the garage, left both the keys and the whippet inside and walked rapidly away.
When he got back to the presbytery, there was no sign of Father da Costa. Fallon went upstairs on tiptoe and peered into Anna’s bedroom. She was sleeping soundly so he dosed her door and went back downstairs.
He went into the sitting room and checked the carpet care-fully, but there was no sign of blood. So that was very much that. He went to the sideboard and poured himself a large whisky. As he was adding a dash of soda, the front door opened.
Fallon turned round as Father da Costa entered the room. The priest stopped short in amazement. “Fallon, what are you doing here?” And then he turned very pale and said, “Oh, dear God “I Anna!”
He turned and moved to the stairs and Fallon went after him. “She’s all right. She’s sleeping.”
Father da Costa turned slowly. “What happened?”
“There was an intruder,” Fallon said. “I arrived in time to chase him away.”
“One of Meehan’s men?”
Fallon shrugged. “Maybe -“I didn’t get a good look at him.”
Father da Costa paced up and down the hall, fingers inter-twined so tightly that the knuckles turned white. “Oh, my God! he said. When will it all end?”
Tm leaving on Sunday night,” Fallon told him. “They’ve arranged passage for me on a ship out of Hull.”
“And you think that will finish it?” Father da Costa shook his head. “You’re a fool, Fallon. Jack Meehan will never feel safe while I am still in the land of the living. Trust, honour, truth, the sanctity of the given word. None of these exist for him personally so why should he believe that they have a meaning for someone else?”
“All right,” Fallon said. “It’s all my fault. What do you want me to do?”
“There’s only one thing you can do,” Father da Costa said. “Set me free in the only way possible.”
“And spend my life in a maximum security cell?” Fallon shook his head. Tm not that kind of hero.”
He walked to the front door and Father da Costa said, “She at all right?”
Fallon nodded soberly. “A good night’s rest is all she needs.
She’s a much stronger person than you realise. In every way.” He turned to go out and Father da Costa said, “That you
arrived when you did was most fortuitous.”
“All right,” Fallon said. “So I was watching the house.” Father da Costa shook his head sadly. “You see, my friend,