‘You know Major Kelly,’ Mallon said. ‘You probably haven’t met former County Inspector Waters of the Royal Irish Constabulary. Mr Waters has been assigned as a special investigator to work with Major Kelly on behalf of Mr Smith Berry.’

Waters had a policeman’s sharp eyes but an easy expression. Swallow knew him by reputation. He had led the RIC’s crime department through the early violent years of the land war.

‘The celebrated Inspector Swallow.’ The older man held out his hand in greeting. His smile seemed genuine. ‘I’ve heard a lot about your work.’

‘Thank you, sir. I appreciate that.’

Kelly’s mouth tightened in displeasure, forming an unmistakable sneer. Leading the way out of the room, he made no attempt to acknowledge Swallow.

Mallon indicated towards an easy chair once they had gone.

‘Sit down, Swallow. You haven’t advanced very much in Major Kelly’s affections I’m afraid. A sour bastard, and a dangerous one. He’s got a face like a wolf, and the instincts of one too. Unfortunately, he hasn’t got its intelligence.’

Mallon had not been so outspoken before about any of Smith Berry’s squad. Swallow knew that he had protested to the under-secretary when the new secret service men had begun to make their presence felt. Mallon felt it was an implied slur on G-Division. The secret service men understood little of the complexities of Irish political crime, and they had subverted Mallon’s own intelligence network on more than one occasion. But the under-secretary had stood firm. Mallon told Swallow his conclusion: that the orders to establish the unit had come from the chief secretary, Arthur Balfour, who had taken over as head of the British administration in Ireland almost two years previously.

The chief looked stressed; more so than he normally would have, even with the news of an overnight murder, Swallow reckoned. Mallon stood and took a tumbler from the sideboard. Without asking he poured Swallow a heavy Bushmills. Then he poured a shot into his own glass, adding an equal measure of water.

‘I’ll talk to you about what those two bloody fellows were after,’ Mallon said tersely. ‘But first tell me about the murder out at Rathmines. Any progress?’

‘It’s not looking the best, sir.’

Swallow sipped at his Bushmills. It was not a taste he particularly appreciated, but he would never offend Mallon over his own favourite tipple.

‘No witnesses worth talking about. No motive. Dr Lafeyre tells us she wasn’t sexually active. It probably wasn’t robbery because her week’s wages were left at the scene, although it’s possible someone could have missed her bag in the dark. As of now, I’ve nothing to go on. I’m going out to meet the mother and the rest of the family later. Superintendent Boyle has turned out his fellows in numbers, so the usual searches, door-to-door and all that, are in hand.’