‘You do that.’
When he had gone, Paddy Costello laughed nervously and clapped his hands together. ‘God save us, but it’s the great day, Mr. Rogan, and me feeling like a young ‘un again. I’ll just take a wee walk along to the kitchen and see what damage Fletcher’s done to that bottle of mine.’
He went out and Hannah got up from the chair where she had sat in silence throughout the whole proceedings. ‘What about Morgan? Do you think he’s gone to phone Pope?’
‘That’s what I intend to find out. You hold the fort heie. I won’t be long.’
He hurried along the passage, took down a three-quarter length oilskin coat from a peg and opened the door. Rain drummed down against the roof, bouncing from the cobbles, silver in the broad band of yellow light that streamed from the window of the living room. She stood in the window watching him, curiously still, her face grave and, for some unaccountable reason, a great tenderness moved inside him so that he wanted to reach out, to touch her face gently, tell her that he cared. But there was no time, probably never would be.
He hurried along the track in the darkness, keeping to
the grass shoulder, for half a mile until he reached the main road. He saw Morgan at once, standing in the lighted telephone box a hundred yards down the road. Rogan moved towards the box, keeping in the shadows, and paused in the shelter of the bush no more than ten yards away.
Morgan was speaking into the receiver and, after a while, he put it down. He opened the door, looked out at the heavy rain and lit a cigarette.
Rogan waited, rain soaking his head, streaming across his face. Once a truck passed going down towards Amble-side, but otherwise, Morgan in the lighted telephone box might have been the only inhabitant of a dark world.
It was perhaps twenty minutes after Morgan had made his telephone call that Rogan heard the sound of an engine faintly through the rain from the direction of Ambleside. A moment later, a mini-car braked to a halt and Jack Pope leaned out of the window.
Morgan got in beside him and they started to talk. It was impossible for Rogan to hear anything of their conversation at all. He watched for a moment or two more, then withdrew into the darkness and started back along the road to the farm.
Whatever it was they intended, they meant business, so much was certain. But where was Soames and what was he doing? That was the important thing. Or perhaps he was simply the man behind the scenes? God knows, he’d hardly looked like the active type.
The rain seemed to increase in force and Rogan bent his head and pushed on. As he rounded the shoulder of the hill, the valley falling away steeply on his right, he could see the farm nestling in a hollow of darkness, the yellow light reaching out into the night, and Hannah screamed his name aloud.
He was running, splashing in puddles of water and not caring, a strange sense of unreality to everything and saw her, silhouetted in the doorway, her hands clawing at Fletcher’s face as he towered above her.
Brendan was on his knees in a pool of water, dazed and shaken, blood on his face, and Rogan ran forward lightly, a terrible, cold anger surging through him. The girl’s dress was torn to the waist and as Fletcher laughed drunkenly and bent to kiss her, she jerked her head away so that Rogan got a clear picture of her face. There was nothing of fear there, only rage and humiliation and disgust. He grabbed Fletcher by the collar and pulled him away in one easy movement.
Fletcher staggered backwards, lost his balance and fell to one knee. He stayed there for a moment, looking up at Rogan, an expiession of bewilderment on his brutal face, then gave a cry of anger and flung himself forward, hands reaching out to rend flesh and muscle.
Rogan swayed to one side and slashed him across the kidneys with the edge of his hand as the big man ran headlong past. Fletcher screamed and hit the wall. As he turned, Rogan punched him with tremendous force beneath the breastbone, the sound of the blow like a mallet striking wood. Fletcher slid down on his knees, the breath coming out of him in a long sigh.