He could see Harry Lafeyre in the morning half-light as the steam packet edged into the wharf at Kingstown. The city medical examiner stood where the gangway would be run out from the passenger shed once the vessel was docked. Swallow silently cursed the time lost to the captain’s caution, his engines at near standstill, slowly closing the last few feet to the wall.

Pat Mossop was there too, his slight frame lost in his greatcoat, his chin tucked down into its heavy folds against the morning chill. Even from where he stood on the deck he could see that they both looked serious and strained. Two other G-men stood behind Mossop, waiting to take Michael Carmody into custody from his Scotland Yard escort. Their instructions were to charge him with larceny from the New Vienna and to convey him to Mountjoy Prison.

The vessel’s hull bumped against the wharf. Heavy ropes were thrown out and looped around the steel bollards to make it fast against the wall. The gangway was rattled out on noisy iron wheels. Swallow was the first person off the vessel.

Lafeyre stepped forwards to grasp his hand. He gestured silently to the harbour offices behind. When he did speak, his tone was slow and measured.

‘Maria will be fine, Joe. I’m going to take you to her shortly in the hospital and you’ll see that for yourself.’

The harbourmaster had made a small anteroom available to them beside his office. A coal fire burned in the grate, and there was a steaming urn of tea on the table. Mossop poured three full mugs. Swallow was silent.

‘Unfortunately, she lost the baby. The haemorrhage was very heavy,’ Lafeyre said, using the same deliberate, slow delivery. ‘Do you understand what I’m saying, Joe?’

‘Yes. I understand,’ Swallow snapped. ‘I’ve understood what you’re telling me pretty well for two days and two nights now. But nobody’s told me what happened.’

Mossop cleared his throat.

‘I’ll explain, boss. But first I have a message—it’s an order—from Mr Mallon. When I tell you about this, you’re not to take any action on your own. Once you’ve seen your missus you’re to go straight to the Castle. He’ll be waiting for you.’

He glanced nervously at Lafeyre. Swallow saw Lafeyre nod.

‘Well this is how it happened, boss. You were gone away on the Monday just after New Year. The week was quiet. Nothing out of the ordinary. Then Friday morning, just after eight o’clock or so, Martin Shanahan was duty man at Exchange Court and in comes Carrie, the cook from your missus’s place. She’s in a hysterical state, saying that Maria—your missus—has had an accident above in the house and they wouldn’t let her get the doctor.’

‘They?’ Swallow said sharply. ‘Who are we talking about?’