John Mallon was in foul humour. As the day ended, the air in his office had become thick with fumes from the coal fire, overlaid with tobacco smoke. As Swallow went to sit, a blast of northerly wind coming across the rooftops sent a ball of sulphur-laden smoke back down the chimney. Mallon waved a newspaper to disperse the fumes.

‘Jesus, if we’ve asked the maintenance men once, we must have asked them ten times to put a new cowl on that chimney pot up on the blasted roof. You’ve a choice in here between freezing to death and suffocating.’

He took his seat behind the desk.

‘Any developments?’

Swallow shook his head.

‘None worth talking about, chief. Debbie Dunne can’t tell us any more than she has. She’s worried about losing her trade, so we told her we’d come down on anyone who tries to take her pitch. None of them have trader’s licences.’

‘That’s a Christian thought.’

‘It was Pat Mossop’s more than mine. She’s a plucky little one. You’d want to help if you could.’

Mallon smiled.

‘Would I be right in thinking there might be more than that? Does Mossop see a return on his effort?’

Swallow shrugged.

‘Just a sense that maybe she might be helpful. No harm for a G-man to be owed a small favour. But otherwise no, sir, there’s no news.’

Mallon seemed resigned.

‘Well, all we can do is our best. All fairness to Commissioner Harrel, he understands and he’s staying off my back. In other circumstances he’d be gone demented with the press roaring on about murder in the streets. But he’s got other things on his mind.’

Mallon tapped his copy of the day’s Irish Times.

‘Have you been following the proceedings of the Parnell Commission in London?’

‘Not with particular attention, chief. What’s happening there?’

‘Our old friend Pigott is being called in as a witness. Nobody’s quite sure why. But it seems that the leader of Parnell’s legal team, Sir Charles Russell, has something on him. There are very long faces on the gentlemen representing the government, and indeed The Times.

Of all the legions of scribblers that populated the Dublin newspapers and printing-houses, Swallow rated Richard Pigott as the most duplicitous. He held himself out as a Home Rule sympathiser, but when Upper Yard officials wanted an inflammatory tract planted in some publication, or sought intelligence on the intentions of Land Leaguers or Home Rulers, Pigott could be relied upon, for the right fee, to come up with the goods.