‘What are they like?’
‘Smash their way in, smash their way out and God help anyone who gets in the way. You know the type. Only one of them is really dangerous. That’s Morgan-Harry Morgan. He’s got brains of a sort. Fletcher’s just a blunt instrument.’
‘Nice people Colum O’More’s got himself mixed up with.’
She shrugged. Tor this kind of a job, you need experts and Morgan and Fletcher are that all right.’
‘How did he get in touch with them?’
‘I think Soames found them for him.’
‘Have you ever met him?’
She shook her head. ‘Colum has, but only once. That was in Liverpool. Since then, we’ve used an accommodation address-a back-street newsagent’s in Kendal. I’ve usually collected the letters by hand.”
‘So Soames doesn’t know about this place?’
‘Marsh-End?’ She shook her head. ‘Even my uncle hasn’t been here. Morgan’s tried following me a few times, but I’ve always given him the slip.’
‘There was a man called Pope-Jack Pope. He was waiting for me when I got out. Where does he fit in?’
‘As far as I know, he was paid to do a particular job and that was an end to it. Soames handled all the negotiations at that end.’
‘How much was Soames paid?’
‘Five hundred and his expenses.’
Rogan shook his head. ‘Not enough. His kind live under stones. He’ll want more.’
She frowned. ‘How could he get it?’
‘I don’t know, but he and Pope are up to something and whatever it is, it isn’t going to do Colum any good.’ He flipped his cigarette down into the water. ‘Come on, let’s get back.’
She caught his sleeve and held him a moment. ‘What are you going to do?’
‘God knows, but he’s an old man. I can’t let him put his head on the block without doing something about it, now can I?’
He turned, scrambled over the rail and pushed his way through the wet undergrowth back towards the farmhouse.
Colum O’More sat at the table, a large scale map of the Lake District in front of him. When the door clicked open behind him, he didn’t bother to move and Rogan sat on the edge of the table.
He looked down at the map, a slight frown on his face. ‘One thing I don’t understand, Colum? Why you? Where are the young and active ones? Safe in their beds?’
The old man shrugged. ‘I first heard about this bank van through an old comrade, Paddy Costello. Hannah’s uncle.’
‘She told me about him.’
‘I put the idea before the headquarters staff in Water-ford. They said it couldn’t be done. That it was too risky.’ He chuckled harshly. ‘I thought I’d show them there was life in the old dog yet.’
‘The money that got me out,’ Rogan said. ‘Where did that come from?’
‘Does it matter?’
‘It might.’
Colum O’More shrugged. ‘I had some savings. That and a mortgage on my house in Lismore.’
Rogan shook his head. ‘No fool like an old one.’
‘Oh, don’t be worrying about me. I’ll get my expenses paid out of the proceeds of this one.’
Rogan shook his head. ‘It won’t work, Colum. You’re
too old.’
The old man went very white, eyes like hot coals. The stick swung up as if he would strike Rogan across the face with it and then a spasm of pain racked his face. He clapped a hand to his mouth too late and a quantity of brown vomit erupted, spilling across the stone floor.
There was a quick exclamation from the doorway and when Rogan turned, Hannah was standing there. ‘A cloth,’ he said, ‘and some water. Quickly now.’
He held the old man’s head up until the girl came back. She gently swabbed away the vomit with a damp cloth and Rogan took his arm and pulled him up.
‘He’ll be better lying down.’
The bedroom was on the ground floor at the rear, and he sat the old man on the edge of the bed, took off his jacket and loosened his collar. Colum O’More lay back with a sigh and Rogan laised his feet and threw a coverlet over him.
He walked with the girl to the door. ‘Have you seen him like this before?’