Pigott lived well, renting an elegant house at De Vesci Terrace in the salubrious suburb of Monkstown, where he lived with his two young sons, his wife having died some years previously. He moved in influential circles. Swallow had encountered him dining one evening with Smith Berry in the expensive Burlington Restaurant on Trinity Street, and on another while visiting the United Services Club on St Stephen’s Green with Harry Lafeyre.

‘Pigott? Nobody’d believe the Lord’s Prayer out of him.’

‘I agree,’ Mallon said. ‘They’re pretty desperate if Pigott’s their strongest card. I would anticipate that Russell is going to pick him asunder on the witness stand. So when the commission collapses or finds that Parnell has no case to answer, that’s when they’ll want G-Division’s protection logs.’

Swallow’s tone was mock-earnest.

‘We’ve searched everywhere, sir. You know that.’

Mallon grinned.

‘Of course. But I should tell you I’ve had to agree to let them do a search. They’ll start in the public office. You’ll have to arrange to have every room open. The same goes for cupboards, lockers, and of course the safes.’

‘The men won’t like it, chief. Tempers are still high over what happened before.’

‘I know. And I’m going to have to rely on you to keep them cool. We don’t need any hot-head stuff. I’ll make it my business to be present myself throughout. So will Kelly. We’ve agreed it will be a joint operation. We’ll have someone with each of their search teams. It shouldn’t take more than a couple of hours if we’re co-operative. If we’re not, it means it’ll take that much longer.’

‘What do you think they really believe, chief?’ Swallow asked.

‘I’m not sure. Kelly’s no fool, and he’s out to cover his own backside. He has to show that he’s taken every possible step to locate the logs. Whether he thinks the stupid Irish can’t find the blasted things, or whether he thinks we’re not co-operating, I don’t really know. And I’m not sure it matters that much. He’ll do what a soldier does anyway—secure the objective he’s been ordered to. Whether it’s worth it, that isn’t his problem.’

Mallon nodded to the wall clock.

‘Time to wind down the day, such as it is.’

He reached into one of the cavernous drawers of the oak desk and produced a half-full bottle of Bushmills along with two tumblers. He poured heavy measures and pushed one across the desk to Swallow.