When Hannah returned five minutes later, he was smoking a cigarette, hands thrust deep into his pockets, a curiously withdrawn look on his face. She slid behind the wheel and closed the door.
‘I thought I was never going to get away. Did you see everything you wanted?’
He nodded. ‘What did the old man have to say?’
She smiled. ‘His name’s Briggs, and he retires next month. He’s got two daughters and six grandchildren and his wife died two years ago. He also told me I couldn’t get the London train from here, but that was only incidental.’
‘He didn’t leave much out.’
‘I could have been talking to him yet. I don’t suppose he has much to do in a place like this. It must get pretty boring. Apparently he isn’t here all the time. They just
send anyone who’s available from Kendal.’
Rogan looked out at the station building again, a slight frown on his face. ‘Where were you last Friday when the van arrived?’
‘On the other side of the road under that tree,’ she said. ‘I brought Brendan with me. We had a picnic.’
‘Did you get a close look at the driver and the guard when they got out of the van?’
‘Close enough.’
‘What kind of uniform do they wear?’
‘That’s easy. I sat next to one of them in a transport cafe in Kendal last month. A double-breasted blue serge suit with black plastic buttons-the sort of thing Naval Petty Officers wear. The cap was the only elaborate thing about him. Shiny black peak edged with gold and a fancy badge.’
‘And the bags the money was in-you saw them, too?’
‘As they pulled them out on to the ramp. They were just the usual G.P.O. mailbags. Is it important?’
‘It could be.’
He took a large-scale map of the area from the glove compartment and unfolded it across his knees. After a while, he nodded. ‘Let’s get moving. Take the road back to Kendal then out towards Staveley. About forty miles an hour. No faster. I’ll tell you when to stop.’
She drove back into Kendal and took the Windermere road to Staveley. Just before the junction with the Bow-ness road and perhaps ten minutes after leaving Rigg Station, Rogan nodded and she slowed to a halt. A few yards away, a five-barred gate gave access to a track which disappeared into a plantation of fir trees. Rogan got out of the brake, walked across to the gate and fumbled with the rusty chain that fastened it to an old stone post. The gate swung open and he returned to the car and got in.
‘Follow the track and take it easy. According to the map there should be some flooded gravel pits a couple of hundred yards in.’
The track was soggy with rain and overgrown with
grass from long disuse. Hannah stayed in a low gear and took the brake forward cautiously. The fir trees closed in on either side, dark and sombre, and then they went over a small rise and dropped down into a clearing.
There was an old barn constructed of heavy grey stone, its roof gaping to the sky and, beyond it, water gleamed through the undergrowth.
Hannah cut the engine and Rogan got out and walked across. He looked up at the crumbling walls for a moment, then continued across the clearing and paused at the far edge. A mass of undergrowth sprawled in a confusion of twisted branches to spill over the lip of a fifty-foot cliff that lifted from the dark waters of the gravel pit below.
Rogan stood there looking down, the slight frown still on his face. After a while he nodded his head as if in confirmation of some secret, hidden decision, turned and found Hannah standing a couple of yards away watching him.
‘Can it be done, Sean Rogan?’
|He flicked his cigarette down into the water and smiled
calmly. ‘I think it’s time I had another word with Colum O’More.’
He took her arm, and together they walked back to the brake.
CHAPTER NINE
VANBRUGH cursed as he sank into a patch of bog, cold water slopping over the tops of his rubber boots. The Sergeant and constable of the county constabulary who accompanied him pulled him back on to firm ground